


Who Watches Over Me?

by nyxocity



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Action, Bodyguard, Hate Sex, M/M, Romance, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 96,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyxocity/pseuds/nyxocity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles is an ex-Navy SEAL turned civilian bodyguard with a mysterious past. Jared Padalecki is a flamboyant Hollywood star known for his action movies who's been receiving death threats. The case sounds like Jensen's idea of a nightmare, and he takes it on against his better judgment. Jared drags him to clubs and parties and award ceremonies without any care for how difficult he's making Jensen's job, and to his complete lack of surprise, they hate each other. But when hate changes into passion, it begins to reveal something deeper between them, and Jensen realizes he's in over his head. Can he still do his job and keep Jared safe? Or will he fall prey to his greatest fear and fail someone... again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Written by nyxocity  
Art by kingsblkdragon  


He presses his hands against the chest wound, blood warm and slick against the palms of his hands, the feel of it making his stomach wrench, turn over inside him. So much blood, God. 

No.

“You’re not supposed to die,” he whispers, leaning down, words breathed out with iron-clad desperation.

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking die.”

 

_Two months ago…_

Jared’s pouring himself another glass of scotch after dinner when Ethan comes into the room.

“Want one?” Jared asks, holding up the glass.

“You know I don’t drink.”

“One day I’m going to corrupt you,” Jared promises, grinning before he takes a sip. He sighs when Ethan just looks at him, dark eyes penetrating the haze of Jared’s buzz.

“What?” 

“I found our guy.” Ethan’s vibrant, eager, as he sits on the edge of the dining room table. "His name's Jensen Ackles," Ethan says, sounding official. "Twenty-nine years old. Originally from Odessa, Texas. Joined the Navy when he was eighteen. Former Navy Seal sniper with a seven year career, excelling in the areas of surreptitious entry, technical surveillance, and high threat protective security. Extremely advanced weapons training. Awarded a bronze star after performance above and beyond the call of duty in Afghanistan in 2006. Honorably discharged in early 2007. He's been doing bodyguard work ever since his feet hit the civilian streets four years ago, and he's got one hell of a reputation as a straight up badass."

Jared rolls his eyes, swirls the glass of scotch in his hand. "Great. All I need. Some guy thinks he's Chuck Norris following me around twenty-four seven."

"Chuck Norris was Delta Force."

"Whatever," Jared waves a hand at Ethan. "Still a pain in my ass."

“Jared,” Ethan says, and Jared sighs. He knows that tone of voice, the one that means Ethan's not going to shut up until Jared says yes. And to be fair, Ethan doesn't pull that tone out very often. If he did, he wouldn't still be Jared's agent after all these years.

"Is he cute, at least?" Jared asks, arching a brow at Ethan, corner of his mouth pulling into a grin. "I mean, he better be some kind of amazing eye candy if I'm gonna be looking at him constantly for God knows how long."

Ethan's mouth thins into a hard, twisted line of a smile. He pulls a picture from the file and hands it over to Jared.

Jared shakes his scotch restlessly as he snaps the photograph out with a flourish and looks down. 

It's a dramatic photo, shadow and light dividing Jensen's face into sharp contrasts. Jared notices his eyes first, striking, intense. Green and gold, set behind a fringe of dark lashes, tiny lines creasing the edges of his steely gaze. Wide, almost square face, saved by a jaw line sharp and solid enough to be cut from stone, cheekbones to match; vee's that draw down to a point, mouth full and sensuous, lower lip casting a shadow across the divot in the center of his chin. Dusky blond hair with lighter highlights, cropped short and close, swept back in a pattern that isn't quite spiky, isn't quite business.

Ethan is _such_ a bastard.

Jared stares at the photograph for a full minute, thumb running along the lower edge. He hands it back to Ethan, sets his eyes on the gold liquid in his glass. "You did that on purpose."

He can practically _hear_ Ethan smirk. Asshole. But that's why Ethan gets shit done in this town; he knows what buttons to push, and just how hard to push them to get what he wants.

"Fine," Jared says and downs his scotch. "Hire him."

 

Jensen turns his car onto the long, winding drive and notes the smoothness of the road, the way the trees line the edges, spaced perfectly on both sides

Jensen’s done his research. The potential client’s name is Jared Padalecki, king of the action movie genre and a well-known celebrity; twenty-five years old, born into money and show business, with a reputation for being flamboyant and decadent. Jensen’s mostly got his mind made up about this case already. He’s not against working in show business, but an actor this young at the height of his career, known for partying and public antics and making appearances everywhere—this case sounds like Jensen’s idea of a nightmare.

Still, Jared’s being stalked and receiving death threats. 

There’s a speaker box to the left in front of the double iron gates, and Jensen takes in the solidness of the bars, notes the thick, seven foot high brick walls they attach to. He wonders about the strength of the hinges and the locking mechanism as he reaches out and presses the intercom button. “Jensen Ackles to see Mr. Ethan Anderson.”

“Yes, Mr. Ackles,” someone’s voice chirps back at him with the just the faintest crackle of static. “We’ve been expecting you.”

The gates swing open with a slow, light creak. 

Jensen pushes the button again. “Can you see me?”

“Excuse me?” the voice crackles back.

“Can you _see_ me?” he says again. “On your cameras?”

A long moment passes before the person on the other end answers. “Yes.”

“Do I match the picture you were given of me?”

There’s an even longer pause. “We’re expecting you.”

“Yes. Do I match the picture you were given?”

“We were just told to expect you,” the voice on the other end answers, sounding slightly mystified.

Jensen nods and rolls up the window. He follows the long, winding driveway, noting the landscaping leading up to the house.

The man who answers the door is wearing khakis and a button down. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Jensen Ackles. I’m here to see Mr. Anderson.” Jensen pauses. “You didn’t know I was coming?”

“No. But then I rarely know who’ll show up on our doorstep,” the man laughs, opening the door wider for Jensen to enter.

Jensen nods and steps inside, looking around. 

The house is grandiose to the point of obscene; the lobby—it can’t be called anything other than a lobby—is filled with marble pillars and encased by a set of double spiral staircases winding down to the main floor. Two golden retrievers run across the expensive marble tile to greet him, claws clicking against the intricate pattern, yipping and barking cheerfully. Their black, wet noses nudge Jensen’s pockets, bodies quivering, their tails wagging and hopeful.

Jensen reaches down, runs his fingers through soft, red-gold strands, meeting big, wide brown eyes. Female and male, he can tell by the delicate glide of the female’s muzzle.

They’re sweet, but they’re not much for guard dogs besides the barking.

“I see you’ve met Sadie and Harley,” says an older man descending the stairs. He’s dark haired save the gray creeping into his temples, eyes warm brown behind his horn-rimmed glasses. “I’m Ethan,” he says, crossing the entry room, hand extended.

Jensen takes his hand and shakes it. “Mr. Anderson. Nice to meet you.”

“Please, call me Ethan,” the older man scoffs with a dismissive gesture.

“No. But thanks,” Jensen smiles, taking his hand back.

“All right, then,” Ethan nods after a moment. “If you’ll follow me to my office?” Ethan asks with a gesture.

Jensen does, noting every step, every curve of hallway all the way to Ethan’s door. The office is large and lushly furnished; thick, rich carpet beneath his shoes, oil paintings hanging on the warmly painted walls, polished mahogany desk accented in gold, perfect, ceiling recessed light casting warm glow and shadow over the whole scene.

“I don’t suppose you want a drink?” Ethan asks like it’s a foregone conclusion as Jensen seats himself in the leather seat across from Ethan.

“No.” Jensen shakes his head, folding his hands together. “We don’t have to do the niceties, Mr. Anderson, though I appreciate the effort. Let’s just get to it.”

Ethan nods, light catching against his glasses. “You know the basics, I assume?”

“Death threats, one accident on the set. I have to tell you, Mr. Anderson,” Jensen says, thumb and forefinger slowly stroking the underside of his neck, “it doesn’t sound like much to go on.”

“Maybe not to someone with your background, Mr. Ackles… but…” Ethan hesitates, like he’s searching for the words and then he sits back in his desk chair, sighing. “There was another unexplained, minor explosion on set two days ago during one of Jared’s scenes—one of the stage hands was badly burned. And then…” Ethan opens the drawer of his desk. 

“We don’t know where it came from,” Ethan is saying as he hands Jensen a piece of black paper. “We found it in Jared’s dressing room backstage on the same day. We didn’t think too much of it until after the explosion.”

It’s smooth, thick card stock, slick on the surface, probably a piece of high-dollar poster board. There’s a picture of a real human heart that’s dripping blood glued to the black surface, and all across the page, letters cut from individual magazines tilt back and forth, spelling out words.

_Your insides are just as rotten as your outsides, whore.  
Can’t wait to see them._

“Why do you think he choose this method of communicating?”

“Because it’s more psychologically terrifying,” Jensen says, eyes tracing out the edges of the letters, the bits of color and images behind them. “It’s _tangible_. It has a mood, a message beyond the words. Plain, printed letters on a sheet of paper don’t deliver the same kind of punch. Words on a monitor are even easier to ignore. Hand writing can be traced. This,” Jensen says, noting the clean, perfectly squared edges of each letter, “means he wants you to take him seriously.” It’s a completely clean design, not even a stray spot of glue to mar the perfection. “Whoever this person is, he’s making an art of what he’s doing. The amount of time he put into this…” Jensen trails off, caught by the background of one of the letter T’s. He squints, leaning closer.

“Here.” Jensen points to the letter and turns the page toward Ethan. Jensen can hear him breath in, quick and sharp.

“That’s… Jared’s face.”

It’s just the edge of his face, long lean jaw and the jut of high cheekbones, dark hair forming the rest of the near-black background. 

Jensen looks over the rest of the letters, one hand pressed to his mouth, brows drawn together as he thinks. “Do you have a collection of magazines Mr. Padalecki has been featured in?”

Ethan nods, frowning at Jensen. “Why?”

“I think if you have someone go through all the headlines of the articles, you’ll eventually find every letter glued to this page.” 

“That’s… rather disturbing.”

“As it’s meant to be,” Jensen nods, looking back to the note. He tilts the page against the light again. “Have the police checked this for fingerprints?”

“We haven’t involved the police. We’re… trying to keep this as quiet as we can. The publicity could be damaging.”

“I see.” Jensen pauses, considering for a moment. “How did Mr. Padalecki react to this note?”

“Jared’s… not easily shaken. He gets his share of death threats through fan mail—it’s something you sort of get used to, being this famous. But the fact that someone managed to get backstage and leave this on the same day as the explosion… brings the threat too close to reality for my comfort.”

“So,” Jensen says thoughtfully, setting the note down. “What you’re saying is that Mr. Padalecki doesn’t believe he needs protection.” Jensen steeples his fingers together, forefingers resting against his lips as he studies Ethan’s face.

“No,” Ethan says, looking sheepish. “Not yet,” he adds quickly.

“Then why am I here, Mr. Anderson?”

“He agreed to have you brought on, just in case.”

“A client who doesn’t believe they need protection is a high risk,” Jensen says. “I can’t do my job effectively if they’re not taking it seriously.”

“We’d be willing to pay you double your normal rate for any trouble,” Ethan offers instantly.

Jensen shakes his head, corner of his mouth curling in disgust. “It’s not about the money, Mr. Anderson; it’s about doing the job. An uncooperative client means there is high risk of failure for completing the job successfully.” Jensen rises from his seat and buttons his suit jacket closed as he considers Ethan. “I don’t do failure.”

“Please,” Ethan says, rising from his chair. “Just meet him first, and then see what you think.”

“I already know what I think, Mr. Anderson, and I’d be willing to bet that meeting Mr. Padalecki is only going to confirm it.”

“There’s more,” Ethan sighs. “Last night, Jared found this in his trailer on set.” Ethan reaches into his desk and pulls out a photograph. He tosses it onto the desk without looking at it. “That’s a picture of Jared on set from four days ago—before the incident.”

“You should have shown me this, first,” Jensen mutters as he picks it up.

Jared is smiling a low, almost-sweet, sexy smile directed at someone outside the frame. He’s nearly nude in the picture, tiny towel wrapped around his waist and barely reaching mid-thigh. There are dashes drawn in careful blue ink around every joint in his body, around the muscles of his stomach and chest. Dashes circling his eyes, nose, his lips, ears. The words “DIE WHORE” are spelled out across the picture in those same precisely cut-out letters. 

Jensen runs a finger over the letters, not quite touching them. “And Mr. Padalecki still isn’t convinced that this person is serious about their threats?”

Ethan shrugs, frustrated as he shakes his head. “He thinks one of the crew did it as some kind of prank. He doesn’t believeit’s related.”

“You mean he doesn’t _want_ to believe it’s related,” Jensen clarifies. 

“Yes.” 

“It’s the same person,” Jensen says. “The use of the word ‘whore’ in both—not a term normally used in reference to men—and the precision of the letters, the line work.”

Ethan shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “Mr. Ackles… Jensen,” he pleads, and Jensen’s eyes snap to him sharply at the sound of his name. “Please. He needs your help.”

“The accident that happened… where was Mr. Padalecki when the explosion took place?”

“It was just at the end of the scene in the photo. Jared was leaving the stage when it happened.”

“He wants you to know he was there… _that close_ ,” Jensen says slowly, thinking. “The stage accident… it was just a warning. He wanted to make sure everyone was paying attention and prepared to take his next message seriously. The explosion was never intended to harm Mr. Padalecki.”

“Why do you think that?”

“The blue ink,” Jensen says, pointing to the lines. “It’s how they section out cattle to be carved.” He looks up and meets Ethan’s eyes. “This guy wants hands on. He wants a close, intimate, messy kill.”

Ethan is as pale as milk.

Jensen looks at him for a moment, and then back down at the photo. “He wants to scare Mr. Padalecki before he makes a real attempt. But if he can’t get his hands on him directly… he’ll find another way.” For all his size and build, Jared looks completely vulnerable with his naked body sectioned out; ink dividing him into parts and pieces, demeaning him, de-humanizing him into nothing but meat. 

The message and intent of the sender is crystal clear. If this psycho gets his hands on him… he’s going to take his time and have _fun_. 

Jared looks so young and innocent with that smile, that gleam in his eyes. 

Jensen sets the photograph down on the desk.

“Have someone take a picture of both of these notes. Then have them use the pictures to check the letters used in these notes against the magazine headlines. Have them take down the date of every article each letter is cut from. If it comes up conclusive, the dates will tell us how long he’s been tracking Mr. Padalecki.”

Ethan is bending over his desk, scribbling notes as fast as he can on a yellow legal pad. “Where will the originals be?”

“I have some discreet people I can contact,” Jensen goes on. “I’m going to send the originals to them. I’ll have them analyze these for fingerprints, chemicals and trace elements on the paper, in the glue. If there’s anything here that can lead us to the guy, they’ll find it.”

Ethan nods, still making notes.

Jensen stops, a thought striking him. “The picture of the heart glued to the first note; have someone confirm whether or not it’s human or bovine.”

Ethan stops writing, glancing up at him again.

“I’m not kidding.” Jensen goes on without waiting for a response. “I’ll need to meet with the security team immediately. I’ll also need to meet with Mr. Padalecki’s entire staff—household staff, assistants, drivers—everyone who will be coming and going on a regular basis. Schedule individual interviews for each of them; fifteen minutes per interview should be sufficient. We’ll need to strengthen security measures on the grounds and in the house, on the set and especially Mr. Padalecki’s trailer. I’ll also need _all_ personal background information on Mr. Padalecki himself; family, friends, relationships, enemies.” Jensen stops, looking at Ethan. “Are you getting all this?”

Ethan looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Give me your notepad.” Jensen reaches for it, pulling a pen from his breast pocket. He tears the away the page Ethan started and begins writing in neat, cramped, printed letters across the fresh page. “I’ll also need an assistant,” he informs Ethan without looking up. “Someone close to Mr. Padalecki that you know you can trust.”

“I’ll come up with a list of candidates,” Ethan says.

“Excellent.”

“Mr. Ackles…” Ethan sounds hesitant, and Jensen pauses, glancing up.

“Does any of this… _frighten_ you at all?”

“Human nature never stops being scary,” Jensen answers as he returns to writing. “You just get good at living with it after a while.”

 

When Jensen’s done with his list, Ethan invites him down the hall to meet some of Jared’s staff.

“Mike will handle all your requests and make sure they get to the correct people.”

“Mike?” Jensen arches a brow, pausing in his step.

Ethan opens the double doors to another office—even larger and more posh than Ethan’s. “Mr. Ackles,” Ethan says by way of introduction as the door swings open, “this is Mike Rosenbaum. He’s Jared’s manager.”

Mike rises from behind the burnished mahogany wood of his desk. He moves with a smooth, liquid, serpentine kind of grace, and Jensen wonders whether or not he should have met the staff _before_ he accepted this job. Mike’s tall, with a short-cropped, carefully arranged mess of hair, and he’s got maybe four years on Jensen. He has flat, pale blue-gray eyes and the kind of smile that makes Jensen’s skin itch. Mike steps forward in his Versace suit, extending a hand with perfectly manicured nails.

“Manager?” Jensen asks Ethan, ignoring Mike’s hand. “I thought _you_ were Mr. Padalecki’s manager.”

“Ethan is Jared’s _agent_ ,” Mike clarifies, smooth as silk as his hand closes around Jensen’s and draws it into a firm shake. “Ethan gets Jared the gigs, books his appointments. I’m the one who advises Jared on his personal decisions, takes care of his public image. Ethan used to do that in the beginning, but he’s way too busy these days.”

Well, that’s a polite way to say Ethan’s been put out to pasture in favor of younger, more Hollywood material.

“So,” Mike says, holding Jensen’s hand just a little longer than necessary. “You’re the super-hero I’ve been hearing so much about. Nice to meet you, Jensen.”

“Please,” Jensen says, flashing Mike a quick, hard smile. “Call me Mr. Ackles.”

Mike arches a brow at Jensen, head tilting with a charming smile. “No need to be so formal. We’re all family here.”

“Got enough family of my own, thanks,” Jensen says, nodding politely. “Mr. Rosenbaum,” Jensen adds, taking his hand back.

“I see.” Mike shoots a glance at Ethan, eyes dark, and then he looks back at Jensen with a nod. “So,” Mike begins. “Let’s get to it, then.” Mike clears his throat, voice taking on an imperial tone. “Mr. Padalecki certainly understands that he’s being threatened, but we don’t want this to completely upset his life. There’s a certain standard of lifestyle that needs to be maintained, and we’re relying on you to make sure that his quality of life is able to be maintained throughout this trying time.”

Jensen’s mouth quirks a tight smile, his hands pushing into his pockets as he looks up at Mike. “Lifestyle, quality of life—both of these standards require your client to be _alive_ to enjoy them. Until this stalker has been caught, and the threat ended, I suggest ‘lifestyle’ be shoved to the back burner in the interest of maintaining it.” 

Mike opens his mouth, eyes narrowing, and Jensen pulls a hand free, holds it up. “I’m sure that you’re a reasonable man who understands the importance of your client remaining alive.” Jensen lifts his chin and meets Mike’s annoyed gaze head on. “After all… that nice, big, fat paycheck you get every month? That will stop if Mr. Padalecki is dead. Your… _quality of life_ would be _very_ severely affected, Mr. Rosenbaum,” Jensen adds, squinting at Mike. “And _none_ of us want that to happen… do we?”

“You think that’s all Jared is to me?” Mike demands, quietly furious as he takes a step closer to Jensen. “A _paycheck_?”

“If he was more than that to you,” Jensen returns, voice level, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” 

“Maybe you’re overestimating the threat.” Mike’s eyes have thinned to slits; his arms folded over his chest as he sizes Jensen up.

“Maybe you’re _under_ estimating it. You don’t want to play the odds on your client’s _life_ , do you, Mr. Rosenbaum?”

Mike just stares at him, eyes scrutinizing, storms brewing in those grey-blue depths.

“Quality of life depends on it, after all,” Jensen adds with an ironic smile.

“I don’t like you,” Mike informs him, leaning close to Jensen’s face.

“You don’t have to like me,” Jensen returns, smiling even brighter.

“Mike,” Ethan interrupts, moving closer. He lays one, slight, gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder. “We agreed to let him take the lead.”

“Within _conditions_ , Ethan,” Mike snaps, enunciating each word with savage exaggeration. 

“The conditions that _Jared_ chooses, Mike.”

“I _make_ Jared’s choices,” Mike says, turning toward Ethan.

“Only when he says so.” Ethan’s voice is sympathetic and matter-of-fact.

“You’re right,” Mike says, suddenly all breezy sarcasm as he puts both of his hands on Ethan’s shoulders. “I _did_ advise Jared against this, after all.” He throws the words like daggers holding the older man for a moment before he spins, cutting his eyes at Jensen.

“Looking forward to working with you, _Mr. Ackles_ ,” Mike says with a twist of his head, voice and eyes hard.

“Yeah.” Jensen nods, returning the steely look. “Can’t wait.”

Mike turns away, walking down the hall, and Ethan’s hand comes up, clapping Jensen on the shoulder.

“Well,” Ethan says. “I think you’re going to fit right in.”

 

Ethan spends the morning introducing Jensen to the rest of the household staff; cook, maids, grounds caretaker—who turns out to be the guy who answered the door—Jared’s driver, Jared’s personal assistant, a few others. 

It’s verging on noon when Jensen makes a sweep of the grounds surrounding the house. So many holes, so many leaks he needs to plug; trees to be trimmed back, cameras to be installed. It’s a decent security system, but not nearly enough.

The wind blows, leaves turning backwards and inside out all around him, light and shadow playing over his eyes. Jensen hates when it’s windy—every rustle of tree leaves makes him edgy, eyes tracking every movement. 

The head of the house security team is one Victor Antonelli. Jensen spots him through the leaves along the path circling the grounds of the house. He’s dark-skinned with hair shorn so close to his head that he’s almost bald, and dressed in an impeccable suit. As Jensen walks closer to the path, Victor stops walking, hand falling to the gun at his side, head turning in Jensen’s direction, eyes scanning the woods.

“Mr. Antonelli,” he calls. “It’s Mr. Ackles. I’m coming out.”

Jensen raises his hands, blinking against the harsh sunlight as he steps out onto the path. Victor’s got his gun free, but pointed down—eyes narrowed on Jensen—and then he stops, breaking into a grin. “Right. You’re the bodyguard. I recognize you from your picture.”

Victor’s got a few years, a few inches and a lot of pounds on Jensen, and the kind of handshake where Jensen’s hand could get lost inside the other man’s. 

“I’m told you’re the man to speak to about security.”

“That’d be right,” Victor nods, looking Jensen up and down as he lets go of Jensen’s hand. “They told me you were on the grounds—wasn’t expecting you to come popping out of the bushes like that, though.”

“Have to admit, I was curious to see what your reaction would be,” Jensen says.

“And?” 

“Good work.” 

Victor nods, turns and keeps walking down the path. “So… I heard you were military.”

“I was,” Jensen says, falling in step alongside Victor. Neither of them is looking at the other, both sets of eyes trained on the grounds. 

“Navy,” Victor says, like he’s confirming it. “I was Army. First Lieutenant, 3rd Brigade 25th Infantry Division.” 

The title clicks into place for Jensen, face turning. “Tropic Lightning. You were in Afghanistan?”

“In two-thousand-four. Betting I didn’t see the action you did, though,” Victor grins.

“You’re probably glad you didn’t,” Jensen says, forcing a smile.

“Ain’t that always the way?” Victor smiles easily, and his whole demeanor is laid back and professional. Jensen likes him better than anyone else he’s met so far. Which is… odd.

“Don’t take this the wrong way… but I expected… I thought the Army hated SEALS?” Jensen asks, raising a brow.

“You were Navy… you hate the Army, Mr. Ackles?”

“No.” Jensen shakes his head. “I always thought the rivalry was stupid.” 

“Right. End of the day, we’re all brothers and sisters in arms. It’s like sibling rivalry. You can’t stand each other most of the time, but when shit goes down, you stick together.” Victor pauses, looking at Jensen. “Shit’s going down, right? It’s gotta be, else you wouldn’t be here.”

Jensen nods wordlessly.

“Then we stick together,” Victor says. “So you just tell me what you need.”

“I’ve got a list of security I’d like to improve here. First, I’ll need to get my headset linked into your communication system.”

“Not a problem. Sam can do that for you right away.”

“We’ll need a security booth at the front gate. Something that size should only take a few days to build; in the meantime, we can get a small trailer out there. There will be a guard stationed at this booth at all times. No one gets in unless the guard there has been notified to expect them, and then that guard will check the guest’s ID against the ledger. In addition, every guest will need to recite a short pass-code phrase before they can enter. The phrase will be provided by the person booking the appointment and will be unique for each appointment. This information will also need to be provided on the ledger. Who would you recommend for the front gate duty? The shifts will require several people who tend to be conservative and stick to the rulebook.”

“I’ve got a few people who’ll fit the bill.” 

“Good. The house security alarm system is good, but I want more cameras posted around the grounds, motion detectors, tight together. I don’t want a single spot where anyone or anything could slip through. We’ll need someone to monitor those all the time as well.”

“You got all this written down?” Victor asks, glancing at the papers in Jensen’s hands.

“Right here,” Jensen says, holding them up.

Victor wraps his hand around the pages, eyes asking Jensen without words, and Jensen lets go of them. “We’ll make it happen.”

Jensen nods again, and looks at Victor, wondering.

“Tell me; are you a friend of Mr. Padalecki’s?” Jensen asks.

“Friend is a regional term,” Victor winks. “Jared’s more like family.”

Perfect.

“And you understand the need for all this?”

“Not just that. I also understand that if Jared needs help, he’s going to get it.”

“Good.” 

“You have no idea how glad I am that this is happening, Mr. Ackles. I’ve been on them to beef up security for years, but Mike wouldn’t have it. Unnecessary, he said. I’m lucky I get _anything_ approved.”

Jensen nods, grateful that someone around here seems to have some sense. He glances around, pushing his hands into his pockets. “How did you see a picture of me when no one at the gate had?”

“I demanded to see one when I heard you were on the grounds. Mike notified the gate at the last possible minute. I didn’t even know you were coming until you were already here. The process for visitors is terrible. Been trying to get them to change it since I got here. Mike said it was too “formal”, that it’d put off the important people who drop by.”

“Couldn’t have that,” Jensen replies, dryly sarcastic.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Victor agrees, echoing Jensen’s tone perfectly.

Jensen glances at the security plans in Victor’s hand. “So you know Mr. Rosenbaum isn’t going to like any of this.”

“Hell… he doesn’t like _anything_ ,” Victor says, rubbing at his nose and laughing.

Jensen cuts his eyes to the side and laughs, too.

“Come on, Mr. Ackles. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team.”

 

By three o’clock Jensen’s met the team and finished his round of the grounds with all of them. Victor keeps things light and easy, and everyone’s extremely cooperative, and Jensen’s… rather stunned. He figured security would be his biggest hurdle—resentment, mostly—but there’s not a trace of it. 

Of course, now he has a meeting with Mr. Rosenbaum to get to.

“Good luck with Mike,” Victor says with a knowing smile as they separate by the front door.

Jensen nods, forcing another smile as he steps inside the house. He steels himself for the bullshit he’s going to have to deal with as he makes his way up the stairs—but when he gets there, Mike’s office is empty. Jensen stands just outside the door, waiting for twelve minutes—checking each of them on his watch—until he finally leaves, making a tour of the house, hand writing down notes as he moves through all the rooms and corridors.

The spring day is winding down into darkness when Jensen finally finishes. He sinks onto one of the couches in the entry room, breathing out hard as he looks over his list.

Sadie runs up to him, pink tongue licking at his hand, nose nudging underneath.

“So what do you think, Sadie?” Jensen asks, rubbing the soft space between the bones at the point of her chin. 

Sadie just shoves her jaw into Jensen’s touch, big brown eyes looking up at him with total trust.

“So simple for you, isn’t it?” 

Sadie opens her jaws, long pink tongue lolling out as she pants.

“We should all be dogs,” he says, fingernails scratching the scruff of her throat.

 

There’s a room prepared for him in one of the… wings. Everything is beautiful dark wood, gleaming in the low lamp light, dresser, desk, night tables and armoire. There are gorgeous, old-fashioned leather couches with swooping arm rests, and an overstuffed chair set into one corner by a low, gleaming table. There’s pale, champagne-colored carpet under his feet, leading to the private marble tiled bathroom with its old fashioned claw-foot tub and basin. 

All the comforts. 

He takes his time hanging his clothes in the armoire on wooden hangers, smoothing them down and spreading them far enough apart not to wrinkle—after all, there’s _plenty_ of space.

He changes into his pajamas and brushes his teeth while watching himself in the huge bathroom mirror—its edging made of what he’s sure is real gold, swirling patterns pulled from its shape.

The bed is feather soft, pillows made of down and silk, comforter to match, high canopy rising above him.

He sleeps on one of the couches instead; tucked under a rough, argyle blanket pulled from the chest at the foot of the bed.

 

It’s 7 a.m. and Jared’s already tired. He stayed out way too late drinking last night, and Peter picked _today_ to finish the boiler room scene—which is not only high on extreme emotion, but literally hotter than _hell_ since they’re shooting it in one of Universal Studios _real_ boiler rooms. He stretches out his arms, rolling his head back and forth against the tension in his neck, yawning so deep it’s almost painful.

Someone smacks Jared’s stomach-- _hard_ \--while he’s stretching, stomach exposed, and his eyes snap open, hands closing into fists.

“What, did I interrupt your beauty sleep?” Tom demands, grinning.

“You so almost just got punched.”

“Psh,” Tom makes a dismissive motion, still grinning. “I can take anything you’ve got to throw, baby.”

“You take the hits _for_ me,” Jared laughs. “Any time you wanna go, baby,” Jared says, lifting his fists in jest.

“Yeah?” Tom arches a brow, smirking sideways at Jared. “You gonna take me somewhere nice?” he asks, leaning in with a flirtatious grin.

Jared laughs, all attempts at posturing lost as he slides an arm around Tom. Tom’s been his stunt double for five years; flirting between them is like other people having morning coffee.

“So. We gonna get through this boiler room thing okay?”

“One of us is,” Tom smirks.

“I hate you,” Jared groans, letting all his weight fall against Tom without warning.

Tom grabs him, supporting his weight and pulling him to his feet. “On your feet, soldier.”

“You didn’t bring me any coffee,” Jared complains, looking up at Tom, refusing to rise to his full height.

“I’m not your slave boy ‘til you fuck me, sweetheart,” Tom smiles. “Now get up before I tickle you.”

“Fine,” Jared sighs, rolling his eyes like he’s put upon as he rises. “I’m still gonna need some coffee, though,” he mourns. He pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and touches the screen, watching it light up. As his finger moves to text Sandy to bring some coffee, his phone beeps, a new text message settling into the queue. 

He doesn’t recognize the phone number. He frowns and touches the screen, opening the message.

_Your bodyguard won’t save you._

It’s only a five word message, but Jared stares at it for a full minute. Until now, Jared was pretty sure this was all some elaborate prank being pulled by someone he knows, and the set accidents most likely being, well, accidents. This puts things in a bit of a different perspective. No one but Ethan, Mike and his house staff know about Jensen being hired, and Jared has known all of them for years now. He trusts them. 

No. This is someone else; someone who’s been sneaking around outside his home recently enough to know that he’s hired protection. Someone who’d accessed his phone when they’d snuck on set several days ago. It has to be a fan. Jared loves his fans, but some of them are more than a little crazy. He gets letters from female fans who tell him how beautiful their children are going to be, some from both sexes that threaten suicide or bodily harm against Jared if he doesn’t comply with their requests to meet, and there’ve been two who’ve tried to invade his home and been caught far outside the grounds. But even they never turned out to be dangerous. 

He’s not worried. This is probably just another harmless, if disturbed, fan. Still, maybe it’s not such a terrible idea, having some extra security around.

“Must be one hell of a text--” Tom breaks off, freezing, fingers gripping hard against Jared’s shoulder. “Who the fuck is _that_?” Tom’s head tilts so far sideways that Jared has to blow the long strands of Tom’s hair out of his face to see. 

Jensen is wearing a navy suit, white shirt and a plain, pale blue tie that complements the color of his eyes. Hands tucked into his suit pants, moving with a quiet, self-assurance as his eyes take in every detail of the room.

“Oh,” Jared starts to say, half-whispering to Tom as he stands at his full height. “That’s…”

Jensen’s green eyes lock on Jared’s then, and Jared suddenly forgets how to speak. Jensen is Adonis, David, all the Pitt-Jolie offspring rolled into one, and it’s seriously not fair.

Tom shakes his head, resigned as he whispers, “He’s so fucking yours, isn’t he?”

Jared finds the presence of mind to clap Tom sympathetically on the back as he pulls away.

Jensen holds out a hand as he meets Jared’s step forward, and Jared reaches out, closes his fingers around Jensen’s.

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen says with a nod.

Jared arches a brow as he pauses in shaking Jensen’s hand, shooting Jensen a crooked grin. “Mr. Padalecki is my dad—I’m Jared.”

“I prefer to keep things professional, Mr. Padalecki.” His eyes are intense, sharp and calculating as they travel the length of Jared's frame down and back up again. There's no warmth in them; numbers and formulas, escape plans and loaded guns in those eyes—a man set straight to his job.

Oh, yeah. This ought to be fun.

Jensen lets go of Jared and pushes his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, standing straight, feet set apart. Well, as long as they’re doing this…

“I just got this text,” Jared says, pulling out his phone and turning it so that Jensen can read it. “Not many people have my personal number, so I figure it’s a fan—the same one who got on set and left the note a few days ago, probably got hold of my cell phone then, too.”

“If they know about me,” Jensen says, his eyes lifting to meet Jared’s, “then that means they’ve been--”

“Snooping around outside the house grounds, yeah. Not the first time a fan’s done that.”

Jensen looks at him like he’s calculating Jared’s words for a moment, and then he pulls a small notepad and a pen from his inside his suit jacket pocket. He makes a note of the number and tucks it away. “Most likely it will trace back to a pre-paid cell phone, but it has to be checked out. Keep the message, don’t delete it yet.”

Jared nods and puts the phone away, and before he can say anything else, Jensen goes on, voice taking on a more authoritative tone.

"I'm going to need to check the set in detail before filming can start. Any weapons being used in the scene have to pass my inspection before each use. Anything even resembling a stunt will be performed by a qualified stunt person.”

Is this guy fucking _serious_ with this? “Ethan,” Jared calls, pleading. Ethan has to be somewhere nearby, and surely he’ll understand what a pain in the ass this is going to be—how much longer it’s going to take to shoot _anything_ if this guy has to check every single thing.

“It's for your protection, Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen says. “Everyone on the crew has already been informed. They understand what’s expected of them.” 

“Fine,” Jared says, throwing up his hands. “Ethan,” he yells, turning. “I’ll be in my trailer until _Mr. Ackles_ is done.”

Maybe he can get some fucking sleep in the meantime.

“If you’re going to your trailer now, I’ll need to check that first,” Jensen says, falling into step beside him.

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Jared says, looking sideways at him.

Jensen shakes his head. “No. In a few days, we’ll have extra security installed and cameras posted in addition to two constant guards for your trailer—but for now; we’ll have to settle for my routine check and two guards posted outside afterwards.”

“You suck,” Jared sighs.

“I’m very good at my job, Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen assures him.

“I’ll be in the director’s office—sleeping.”

“I haven’t checked that room, yet, either,” Jensen informs him, turning as Jared stops.

“You wanna _carry_ me around while I sleep?” Jared demands.

“I’m trying to make sure you’re safe.”

“Tell you what—you check my bed first, and while you check the rest, I sleep.”

“That won’t work,” Jensen says. “If someone wired a bomb to your trailer--”

“Then check for bombs first.”

“There could be anything, anywhere. Outside, inside. I need to do a full sweep. Forty-five minutes to do a full check, and then you can sleep as long as you want.”

“Fine,” Jared snaps, rolling his eyes.

When they get to the trailer, Jensen takes off his suit jacket, beckoning to a couple of the security guards to assist him. Jared can’t help but notice the way he moves, the ripple of his muscles underneath his button down, the way his suit clings to his… really _amazing_ ass. Jared gets a nice view of it all. He spends every minute of the next forty-five watching Jensen crawl under his trailer, under every piece of furniture. He sticks his head inside every single cabinet, even pulls out a chair from the dining room table and checks every inch of the ceiling. He’s so… efficient, and completely engrossed in his work, which gives Jared a lot of time to stare without Jensen noticing.

Jensen finishes up with a brief nod to Jared and slides back into his jacket. “You’re good to go, here. There’ll be a guard stationed outside both the trailer doors. If anything happens, you yell; they’ll hear you.”

Jared’s got half a mind to ask Jensen if he’d like to check Jared’s bed a little more thoroughly—but Jensen’s already moving past him.

“I’ll have someone send word when I finish checking the boiler room,” Jensen calls over his shoulder.

Jared turns to watch him walk away, and Jensen pauses with his back turned to Jared, clicking a button on his headset. He says a couple things Jared can’t quite make out, and Jared starts to head for his trailer. He gets two steps before his cell phone rings.

Janice. Dammit.

“On my way,” he says as he answers the phone.

Jensen’s still nearby. “Where are you going?”

“Wardrobe and make-up trailers. You gotta check those, too?” Jared asks, sarcastic.

Jensen just looks at him.

“Is this gonna be an everyday thing?” Jared asks, starting to get angry. 

“This will be a quick check. This guy is focused on _you_ , he’ll want to hit you where you live, in places that are personal or meaningful to you. Wardrobe and make-up don’t really qualify.”

“But the sets do?” Jared asks.

“It’s a good place for accidents, as you’ve seen. Besides, are you telling me acting isn’t personal and meaningful to you, Mr. Padalecki?” Jensen asks, flicking him a quick glance.

“Of course it is, but you are _totally_ overdoing this whole thing.”

“The sooner we get there, the sooner I can finish,” Jensen says, expression not changing a bit.

Jared sighs and heads for the trailers.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The boiler room is filled with gold-tinted light, steam rising from the pipes, and Jared is dripping with so much sweat that he feels like he just showered. He blinks a stray drop from the corner of his eye, and focuses.

“We were _brothers_ , Logan,” Jason spits, face gleaming with sweat. “Maybe you can turn your back on that, but you can’t turn your back on what we are. We’re _assassins_. It’s in our blood.”

“And now you’re here to kill _me_?” Jared asks, making it not quite a question. He reaches for just the right emotion to accompany the words--stern, regretful, resigned and judgmental all at once.

“Killing is what we do,” Jason says, eyes intense.

“You could have killed me without me ever seeing you.” Jared keeps his voice level, puts just the hint of a question to the words, just a touch of reproach and confusion. Logan still wants to believe maybe that’s not why Scott’s here.

“Yeah,” Jason says, pulling a slow, creepy smile. “But it’s more fun if I…”

There’s a long pause and then Jason hisses, “ _Shit_ ,” turning away.

“Cut,” Peter calls out. “Jason.”

“God dammit. It’s a long fucking take.”

“I know,” Peter says. “But I need some more emotion from you. A little more sadness to go with the madness. This is your best friend; even if you’ve always been in competition with him, there should be some sadness behind your determination to finally kill him. Let’s take it from ‘You never change’.”

Jared takes a deep breath and steels himself to do the whole scene again.

 

Five hours later, Jared’s had enough of being in a boiler room all day, sweat dripping off him like he's showering in it, and Christ, he's probably lost five pounds just _standing_ here. 

“But it’s more fun if I do this face to face. Come on, Logan...” Jason is saying, expression predatory, almost longing. “All those years… working together… you’ve _got_ to have wondered… between me and you… which one of us would win?”

There’s supposed to be more—this is a whole speech—but Jason misses his cue for the next line in the fifteenth take for the sixth time in a row, and Jared finally pounces on the opportunity.

“Me,” Jared breathes, yanking both his guns from the holsters and leveling them on Jason.

“Cut,” Peter yells. “That’s a wrap for today. Great work, Jared. The line works, we'll keep it. Let's pack it in and pick up from here in a few days. We’ve got the car chase scheduled for tomorrow."

Jared grins, and Jason's behind the cameras in two seconds flat, raging.

 

Jared’s still sweaty and badly in need of a shower when he pushes open the doors to the lot, Jensen right behind him.

He stops short, surprised by the figure moving towards him under the streetlamps.

Ah, shit. Jason. "What do you want?"

Jason's five-foot eleven inches of pure anger packaged into jeans and a black leather jacket, raven-dark long hair and blistering blue eyes that look like they could burn out the heart of a demon. He always looks like that, though. It's kind of a whole persona thing.

"What the fuck was that shit on set today?" Jason demands, getting way into Jared's personal space.

Jared shrugs, puts on his sweetest smile. "Just thought you could use a save. Seemed like you were choking a little, so I thought I'd help—"

Jason's in Jared's face quicker than Jared can suck in a breath, eyes slitted so thin that Jared can barely see the blue in them. Jensen's between them even faster than that, and a split second later, Jason's five feet away, Jensen's hands on his chest.

Jason isn't even looking at Jensen, too focused on Jared to even care. "When I need your help, _Jared_ ," Jason says succinctly, "I'll put a fuckin' gun to my head. Next time you get in my way, it's gonna be your pretty boy ass."

"I'd strongly advise you to reconsider making threats," Jensen says, quiet and steady.

Jason's eyes flick up to Jensen for the first time, like he's just noticing him. He steps back from Jensen pressing against his chest, looks down at Jensen's hands like he can't believe Jensen had the gall to touch him. 

"Fuck you, Jared," Jason spits, turns and saunters off in the direction of the doors with a toss of his hair, shoulders and chin held high.

"Jason Jerald Lee," Jared says by way of presentation, motioning after the dramatic exit. "Charming, isn't he?"

Jensen's just staring after Jason, a thoughtful look on his face.

"What?" Jared asks, annoyed. "You a fan of his?"

"No. Just wondering why he's got such a problem with you."

"Ego," Jared answers without hesitation.

"No." And now Jensen's turning those questioning eyes on him. 

"You need a crash course in actors and ego? Pretty self-explanatory. Jason used to be a decent guy. Then he got that part in _Yesterday's Prophet_ , and now nobody can fit in the same room with his head. Size of Montana," Jared says, spreading his hands apart for emphasis.

Jensen's just looking at him, unimpressed. "It goes deeper than that. Doesn't it? More personal?"

Jesus Christ, this guy really doesn't quit. Fine. "His ego's why we broke up."

The expression on Jensen's face is satisfying. Confusion first, then surprise flickering in those steady eyes, brows rising. "You're gay?"

"You didn't know?" Jared laughs. 

"No." Jensen glances away, at the doors, and it's the first time Jared's seen him look away with anything other than intent. Jared isn't sure what to make of it, has even less of an idea what's going through Jensen's head than he has all day. Isn't sure why he even cares.

"Is that a problem for you?" Jared asks. He means to make it sound sarcastic, like a taunt, but it comes out edged with more anger than anything, and Jensen's eyes snap up to meet his suddenly.

"No. That won't be a problem," Jensen says with certainty. The lines in his face shift and harden. "I need to have a talk with Mr. Anderson."

Jared’s almost gleeful at the idea that Ethan is _so_ going to get his ass chewed.

At least someone else will have to deal with this shit.

 

Jared showers quickly and gets into his tuxedo. There’s a party at Johnny’s tonight, and despite all Jensen’s bitching to the contrary, he’s not going to miss it. This whole… whatever this thing is… isn’t going to change his life.

Emma meets them in the limo. She's a petite brunette with almond shaped eyes, green as a cat's. Perfect proportions, expertly coifed and pressed into her designer clothes, trademark, thousand kilowatt smile set on full blast as they slide into the car. She's everything any straight guy could want; gorgeous, charming, funny, sweet and one hell of a party girl. Jared's seen her drink guys twice her size under the table.

A popular model, two years Jared's junior, she's the perfect decorative ornament for Jared's arm. She's well paid for her appearances with Jared in public. The gossip magazines love the two of them together, seem intent on picking apart their 'mysterious' relationship. Jared thinks it probably won't be long until the magazines try to tear it to shreds with stories about illicit affairs and Emma's secret shame over her myopic dog or some shit. They smile charmingly and hold hands for flashing cameras, mention each other in interviews, and it's all so incredibly fake that sometimes it turns Jared's stomach. 

But you can't be the next Stallone, the next Schwarzenegger, the next Bruce Willis, if you're gay as the day is long. And he really does like Emma. She's a blast.

"Emma," he says, leaning over to kiss her cheek, feathered collar of her shirt tickling his nose.

"Jared," she grins. "How are you, darling apple of my eye, my one true love?" She's got a British accent that clips her words, makes them even more charming.

She's a good sport. She makes fun of their "relationship" whenever they're off camera by playing it to the max.

"I'm great, sweetheart. How are you?"

" _Perfect_ ," she answers with a laugh. She tilts her head, twines a strand of hair around one finger. "Who's your friend?" she asks, eyeing Jensen sitting on the seat across from them.

"Emma Steel," he says, making a gesture, "meet Jensen Ackles. Jensen, this is Emma."

"Oh," Emma coos, leaning across the seat, fingers stroking over Jensen's knee. "Aren't you a cute one?" She inclines her head towards Jared. "Jared, darling, where have you been hiding him? Not that I blame you," she adds with a smile. "Someone would steal him in a second if they had the chance."

Jared gets it. He never brings strangers along for the ride unless they're his _actual_ date, and there's no reason for Emma to think this time is any different. No reason at all. Jared's an actor, he can do this. The fact that he's fairly sure after twelve hours with Jensen that he hates the man completely doesn't mean he can't sell this. Hell, he does it every day with Jason on set. Besides, he wants to see if it’ll get under Jensen’s skin, and that makes it worth selling.

"Hands off, baby," Jared says with a grin. "He's mine."

"So far away. All the way over _there_. Doesn't look like yours," Emma smiles, nudging her forehead playfully against Jared's. 

Emma. Always pushing. Jared gives her his best charming smile. "That's just 'cause he doesn't know it yet."

Emma laughs, loud and pleased as hell.

"Such a tiger." She shakes her head, turns to look at Jensen. "Watch out for this one," she says and winks.

Jensen's staring out the window at the street lights ticking by, patterns of reflected, translucent rain dripping down his face. "I am."

There's a moment of silence, patter of rain and the spin of tires, and then Emma smiles, patting Jared's leg consolingly. "Well, darling. What he lacks in charm he makes up for in looks." Emma eyes Jensen again. "And other things, I'd bet."

"You know I never kiss and tell, sweetheart."

"Who are you kidding? You love to kiss and tell," Emma laughs, pushing her shoulder into his.

"Some things," he says with an air of grandeur, "a man's got to keep to himself."

"Oh." Emma's eyes go wide, glittering with interest. "Really?"

Shit. Maybe he just oversold it.

The limo swings into the club parking lot, and Jensen announces quietly—and unnecessarily—that they've arrived. Like Jared couldn't figure that out for himself. But since it rescues him from talking to Emma, he can't really complain much.

The party is in full swing, put on in the incomparable Johnny Johnson style; utterly decadent and flamboyant. Johnny wears _cufflinks_ that cost more than a Columbian drug lord could snort up their nose in a week. Also like a Columbian drug lord, Johnny's bound to die with a straw sticking out of his nose one day. 

"Jayyyyyreyeeeeeddd!" Johnny's clapping Jared's shoulder the second he's inside the club, and only Johnny could make his name sound like that and maintain any dignity. It's a talent. 

"So glad you could make it, buddy. And Emma, hello dear." Johnny puts his hand on Emma’s arm and leans in close, flirting in his usual outrageous style. Emma’s unimpressed, but she plays along, charming as ever, and Jared’s smirking, watching Johnny thinking he’s actually getting somewhere, when Jensen puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him aside.

“How many of these people do you actually know?” he asks, eyes like flecked, cold marble.

Jared glances around at the crowd, shrugging. “There’s hundreds of people here. My guess? Maybe half of them. Most of them acquaintances.”

Jensen’s expression changes fractionally; the only way Jared can describe it is condescending in the most polite way possible. “You do understand that this is a bad, bad place for you to be?”

“It’s a _party_ ,” Jared sighs, rolling his eyes. “We’re on private property.”

“And anyone could still shoot at you, stab you, any second.” Jensen is so serious, so intent on Jared. “I’m going to have to stay next to you every step of the way.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“Dead,” Jensen says, voice clipping hard against the word, “serious.”

“You know you’re a total buzzkill, right?” Jared inquires, moving through the crowd.

Jensen curls his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I’m doing my job.”

“Do you even know what the word “fun” means?” Jared asks, turning to look a Jensen.

“Yeah,” Jensen nods, leaning into Jared’s space—a whole lot deeper than Jared is convinced is absolutely necessary. “I do. And this? Isn’t that. I’m protecting your life, Mr. Padalecki. The sooner you get that through your head, the better off we’ll be.”

 _Mister Padalecki_. So fucking formal.

“Fine,” Jared grins, stepping closer to Jensen. “I’ll just introduce you to everyone as my date.”

“What? You think that bothers me?” Jensen scoffs. 

““Supposedly bad ass ex-Navy SEAL guy like you? Pretending to be gay?” Jared shoots back. “I’d guess yeah.”

“I know this may shock you,” Jensen says, looking Jared straight in the eye, “but I’m not a big pretender.”

Oh.

OH.

“You’re…” Jared breathes, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Jensen shakes his head and snorts. “Just do us both a favor and shut up and let me do my job.”

 

Jensen mostly stays silent by Jared’s side as Jared makes his rounds through the crowd, and the only time he touches Jared is to stop him for a moment here and there while he looks at something. Jared doesn’t bother introducing him to anyone, and he’s pretty sure everyone knows Jensen’s a bodyguard, but that’s not exactly out of place in this crowd. 

He’d only been kidding about the boyfriend thing earlier—but Jensen’s response has been driving him crazy all night. As annoying as Jensen is, he’s just so fucking _hot_ Jared can already barely stand it, and then Jensen tossing out that he’s gay, on top of that?

After finding out that Jared’s gay?

 _Has_ to be an invitation.

Jared finds a seat at the end of the bar by the pool and sits down, running his hand over the smooth, polished dark wood before he spins around to face the crowd. There are intimidating tiki faces cut into the supports of the bar, lit from beneath so that the hollows of their eyes and mouth are dark, filled with shadow. All the lights are warm and yellow, mellow light accentuating the bar, elegant lanterns strung all around the pool. It would be high class except for the people screaming and splashing in the pool, naked as the day they were born, skin gleaming in the light as they grab and splash at each other.

Jared watches Jensen eye them for a moment, and then his gaze moves on, sweeping the area, eyes pausing here and there. He stays standing on Jared’s left side, hands clasped together in front of him, feet spread evenly apart.

“I’m surprised you haven’t shot anyone yet,” Jared snorts.

Jensen throws him a quick, mild look and shrugs with one shoulder. “The night’s still young.”

Jared can’t help but smile at that, head tilting to the side as he looks at Jensen. “You know, for someone so uptight, you’re pretty funny.” 

Jensen’s looking around again as he nods. “Helps me cope when I’m not shooting people,” he says, short.

Jared laughs, tilting his head farther to the side, letting his hair fall into his face, brushing against his cheek. He flashes one of his patented thousand kilowatt smiles, looking over at Jensen through his lashes. “So what you said earlier, about being gay… was that you being funny?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Jensen dismisses the question, eyes following a dark-haired girl in a white dress. She’s reaching into her purse as she passes by them, and Jensen’s eyes move on when she pulls out a cigarette. 

“Why not?” Jared asks, turning on the stool to look at Jensen directly. 

“Because that’s not why I’m here.” Jensen’s eyes are focused somewhere across the massive backyard, squinting for a split second before he continues the smooth swivel of his gaze.

He’s not looking at Jared at all, and Jared’s not used to being ignored.

Jared eases up from the stool, back pressed against the bar as he slides in close to Jensen, face leaning over Jensen’s shoulder, close to his ear. “You know… this whole uptight, all business thing… I’m usually not into that… but on you,” Jared lowers his voice, leaning even closer, “it’s totally hot.”

Jensen doesn’t pause in looking around as he nods. “I think we need to set some rules.”

“Oh… rules,” Jared drawls out slow and breathless, leaning even closer.

“First,” Jensen says as he tilts his head to the side, just a little closer to Jared as he lowers his voice, his eyes still tracking the crowd. “Talking should be limited to necessity.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Jared smiles, so close now that he knows Jensen can feel him breathing out the words against his cheek.

“Second…” Jensen’s hand rises, sliding up Jared’s chest, and Jared feels a shiver run up his spine at the warmth of Jensen’s hand against him. “There needs to be at least two feet of space between our faces at all times,” Jensen adds, pushing Jared backward. Jared is startled by the move, standing straight again before he realizes what’s happening, and Jensen’s _still_ not looking at him.

Jared didn’t get this far in his career by giving up easily. “So,” he says, teasing as his shoulder brushes against Jensen’s. “You making these rules because you think they’ll keep my hands off you… or the other way around?”

Jensen cuts his eyes sideways at Jared. “No. I’m making them because you’re an outrageous, incorrigible _flirt_ who won’t let me do my job in peace.” There’s no warmth in the words, not even a hint of humor, and Jared’s so astounded he literally can’t speak.

“Third rule,” Jensen says as he goes back to watching the crowd, “no flirting.”

Jared can’t believe the absolute fucking incredible _nerve_ of this guy. There’s not an ounce of the kind of body language in Jensen that Jared’s used to seeing in another gay guy when Jared flirts with them, and that means… either Jensen’s not into him… or, more likely, Jensen’s totally straight and just fucking with Jared. 

“Will that be all, _sir_?” he grits out, voice dripping sarcasm.

Jensen flicks another quick, cool glance at Jared. “That’s it for now. I’ll let you know if we need any more rules.” And then he goes right back to looking around, like the whole exchange never happened.

Jared… doesn’t even know what to _say_. He’s never been treated like this, and beyond even that, he’s not sure he’s ever felt like this. He’s so motherfucking furious he doesn’t even know what to do.

Jared spins away from Jensen, heading back towards the main house.

He can hear Jensen walking right behind him, which just pisses him off even more.

“Fucking arrogant, asshole motherfucker,” Jared mutters under his breath, hands closing into fists as he pushes through the throng of people.

“Mumbling isn’t polite,” Jensen comments, voice level and even, just behind Jared’s shoulder.

Jared grits his teeth and walks faster.

“Darling,” Emma murmurs, sliding up beside him through the crowd. She falls into step alongside Jared and wraps an arm around his waist. “Where have you _been_?” she exclaims, with that bright, dazzling smile.

“With _Mr. Ackles_ ,” Jared informs her as he slows his step.

“Not your best date ever?” Emma asks, lowering her voice as she turns her face towards Jared.

Jared lowers his voice to a low murmur. “He’s not my date. I was… messing with him in the limo. I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

Emma’s wide green eyes are focused on Jared’s as she winds her fingers through his. “You mean he’s _not_ yours?” 

“He’s my bodyguard,” Jared grates. 

“Bodyguard?” Emma’s brows draw together. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah.” Jared hesitates over the words. “Just, with the new movie coming out soon, Ethan thought we should beef up security.” He hates lying to her with intent, but it’s not like he’s got much choice.

“So he’s not yours,” she murmurs again, glancing back to where Jensen is no doubt right behind them.

“No, but... he says he’s gay.”

“Oh, drat,” Emma frowns, pouting as she sighs the words.

“Either way, honey,” Jared says, tightening his fingers around hers. “He’s on duty as my bodyguard, which apparently means he’s an asexual asshole.”

“Oh,” Emma breathes, nodding. “How much _fun_ that must be for you, sweetheart.” She plants a kiss on Jared’s cheek, soft and smooth, like sympathy. “Well, darling, let’s just have a good time, then, shall we?”

Emma spends the evening hanging on Jared’s every word, matching him drink for drink, kissing him on the mouth and grinning whenever he drops a joke. She’s wrapped around Jared so tight she’s practically all over him, and Jared’s kind of enjoying the show they’re putting on. Jensen spends the evening to Jared’s right, just behind them wherever they go, and Jared makes it a point not to look at him.

 

He can’t not look at Jensen when Jensen makes a sweep of his room when they finally get home, though. Jensen is in his _room_ , on his _bed_ on all fours in those tight fitting suit pants and the button down shirt that does nothing to hide the muscles in his arms. Jensen undoes the buttons at his wrist and rolls the sleeves up to his elbow on each side, forearm muscles flexing underneath tan skin, catching the light from the oil lamps in Jared’s room. The way his fingers move over the carved woodwork of the headboard, tracing into the deep grooves and touching, feeling… the intent look in his green eyes. 

Jared lets his lungs fill with a deep breath, hands still inside the pockets of his tuxedo pants, and turns. He walks to the doorway and looks down the hall. There’s nothing but the deeply complex knotted pattern of the hallway carpet; red background, gold lines and knots separating and twining beneath the red walls. 

Even his carpet is making him think about sex. That's just... great.

Jensen brushes by him a few minutes later, suit jacket back in place as he nods at Jared.

“I’ll station a guard out here for the night.” Jensen smoothes down the lapels of his jacket, lifting the neckline and settling it back into place.

“Sure.” Jared turns around and closes the door.

He absolutely does _not_ think of Jensen as he strips and slides between the familiar sheets of his bed.

He’s still not thinking about Jensen as he closes his hand around his hard cock, fingers squeezing, flexing up the length, thumb pressing and holding just under the crown, teasing that bundle of nerves.

He definitely doesn’t think of Jensen when he comes, teeth biting into his lower lip, sweating into the sheets. Not a bit about those eyes, that jaw, that mouth, kissing him, his cock thrusting into Jared, both their bodies slick with sweat.

No, not at all.

 

Jensen meets Jared’s eyes for a split second as Jared says _Sure_ , and then closes the door in Jensen’s face.

Jared can’t stand him any more than he can stand Jared. That’s fine. This is a working relationship, after all.

He’s more upset about getting hit with a couple of surprises today. Jensen doesn’t like not knowing things--especially not when he’s on a job. The only way to be as in control of a situation as possible is to have all the information available—and even that, in his experience, is never one-hundred percent.

 _Nothing_ is ever one-hundred percent.

Still. It’s imperative to know everything that’s possible to be known. It makes a situation as sure as it _can_ be.

Jensen knows better than anyone that being a bodyguard means walking a thin, deadly line between someone else’s life and death; he just wishes his clients this time around were more aware of that fact.

Well. It’s his job to make them more aware. 

It’s late; far too late for him to speak with anyone tonight, but he’ll get to it first thing in the morning.

 

Jensen remembers the maze of hallways to Ethan’s office perfectly, and he turns every corner, takes every flight of stairs without a doubt of where he’s headed.

It still takes him several minutes to get there.

“Mr. Anderson,” Jensen begins, pushing open the door to his office. 

Ethan’s behind his desk, but on his feet in a moment, pen still in his hand. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Jensen sighs, willing himself patience. “Nothing like that. I need to speak with you about Mr. Padalecki’s background file. I know that it will take some time to pull all the information together, but there are a _lot_ of details I should have known up front--”

“Wait.” Ethan holds up a hand, stepping out from behind his desk. “Mike was supposed to fill you in on everything in your meeting yesterday afternoon.”

Jensen stops, chin rising as he slides his hands into his pockets. “Mr. Rosenbaum,” he says, stiff, “ _skipped_ our meeting the day before yesterday. 

“I’ll talk to him,” Ethan offers immediately, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose, lamplight catching in them. 

“No,” Jensen says, turning away. “Don’t bother. I’ll speak to him myself.”

Jensen shoves open the polished wooden doors to Mike’s office without preamble, stepping through before they slam closed behind him.

“Mr. Ackles,” Mike says, tilting his head at Jensen. “What a pleasant surprise.” He rises to his feet as Jensen walks up to his desk. “Would you like some coffee? I just had Katie brew a fresh pot.”

“Coffee,” Jensen offers with a thin smile, “makes me edgy.”

“Of course it does,” Mike smiles back, sliding into the high backed leather chair behind his desk, knuckle of his forefinger propped beneath his nose. “What can I do for you?”

“Mr. Rosenbaum,” Jensen begins, pushing his hands into the pockets of his suit pants, easing his hip back on the edge of the desk and turning to look at the man behind it. “I asked for a complete background information file to be put together regarding Mr. Padalecki—and I understand that this takes time,” he adds, staving off Mike’s protests. “But there are a great many things you could have told me up front that you deliberately left out.”

Mike frowns, thumbing across his chin as he leans forward. “Such as?”

Jensen nods. Fine. They’ll play it this way—for now. “Why didn’t you tell me Jared was gay?”

Mike folds his hands together and blinks up at Jensen. “Is… that a problem?” Mike asks, hands pulling apart with the question.

“The problem is that I wasn’t informed. I also wasn’t informed that Mr. Padalecki and Mr. Lee used to have a relationship. Or that there was a competitive work relationship between them.”

“Is that… important?”

“Yes,” Jensen says, standing up from the desk and holding back a sigh. “It _is_. It puts Mr. Lee on the list as a possible suspect in all this.”

Mike looks mystified, like Jensen just told a particularly clever joke and he’s not getting the punch line. “Jason would never--” Mike starts to laugh, and Jensen turns on him, taking a step closer, eyes leveled on Mike’s.

“Mr. Rosenbaum,” he says, succinctly. “This is my job. It’s my _job_ to know and understand these things; not yours. I don’t _do_ sloppy work. Not ever. The reason I have the record and recommendations that I do, is because I don’t do any job with half-assed information. I’m _very_ thorough. I believe that’s why you hired me in the first place. If you _really_ want me to protect your client, then I need to know every single detail about his personal life.”

“I just don’t see how this is--”

Jensen is beginning to lose his patience. He stands up straighter and aligns his shoulders, head tilting down to look at Mike. “You need to _trust_ me, or else you need to hire someone you _can_ trust. I’m not here to be an ornament, or serve as an impotent threat to whoever is stalking your client. I’m here to _stop_ whoever it is that wants him dead—and that could be _anyone_. _No one_ is above suspicion,” Jensen adds, emphatic. “In the United States, there are no snipers picking off political or other important figures. Do you know what that means?”

“No.” Mike shakes his head. “I have no idea what that means. But I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he says, and sighs.

“It means,” Jensen says slowly, pulling his hands from his pockets. “That eight times out of ten, when someone is being stalked and threatened by a would-be killer? It’s someone they know personally—or someone _hired_ by someone they know personally. _Eight times out of ten_.” Jensen sets his hands on the smooth, polished wood of Mike’s desk, and leans across it. “It’s almost _always_ personal.”

Mike sits back, considering Jensen. “So you don’t think it’s just a crazy fan?”

“I never assume _anything_. All the evidence I’ve seen points to this stalker wanting to carve your client up like a Thanksgiving turkey--nice and slow and messy…” Jensen enunciates, hands sliding forward across the desk, upper body moving closer to Mike, eyes narrowing. “He wants Mr. Padalecki bloody and screaming before he kills him. If he gets his hands on him…? My guess is you’ll be lucky if there’s enough left afterwards to identify Mr. Padalecki through dental records.”

Mike fades to a significant shade of pale beneath his tan.

“Now,” Jensen says, tilting his head to the side, tongue curling against the inside of his jaw as he considers Mike for a moment. “Are you going to give me the background file, or not?”

Mike rubs at his face again, eyes almost apologetic, reluctantly speaking the next words. “You have to understand, Mr. Ackles. We have a _lot_ to protect here--”

“Yes. And I can’t protect any of it without all the necessary information. Do _you_ understand _that_? I signed your non-disclosure agreement,” Jensen says, lifting his hands from the desk. “Your secrets are legally safe—and backed by my personal promise as a former member of the United States military.”

“I still don’t know why you were discharged, Mr. Ackles,” Mike says, eyes scrutinizing.

“Honorable,” he says, enunciating the word. “Discharge.” The corner of Jensen’s mouth quirks in a hard smile, one eye squinting just a little tighter as he considers Mike. “I’ve given you all the patience you’re going to get, Mr. Rosenbaum.”

Mike presses a hand to his mouth, thinking for a moment, then finally nods. “Fine. You’ll have full disclosure.”

“When?” Jensen demands.

“Give me until the day after tomorrow.” Mike sighs and reaches for the phone. 

Jensen nods, satisfied, hands sliding back into his pockets. “Good.” He turns, walking towards the gleaming, wooden double doors. 

He stops, turning to throw Mike a look over his shoulder. “If anything is left out of that file,” he adds, eyes scrutinizing Mike just as hard as Mike had looked at him a moment ago, “even _one single detail_ \--I walk from this job and never look back.”

“I understand.” Mike’s ear is pressed against the corded phone on his desk, waiting for someone on the other end to answer—but his expression and his tone are sincere enough.

Jensen pushes the doors open and steps out into the hall.

Fucking Hollywood civilians. 

 

They’re filming a car chase scene in downtown LA this morning, and Jensen is seriously unhappy with the amount of people it apparently takes to pull off a scene like this. There are hundreds of people, between the extras walking the street and the people driving the cars, plus the road crews blocking off the streets. At least most of Jared’s scenes are going to take place inside a single car that’s sitting still—right now, anyway—motion of the city flying by to be added afterward. Still, the people passing by set him on edge and he watches them, checking their movements and body language, eyes flicking back and forth between them, Jared and the cameras. He watches the people that pass on the other side of the street as well, eyes ticking up to check the windows of every building in sight before working back to the crowd.

There are way too many possibilities for an attack, and there’s no way Jensen can cover them all. He’d set security at all the weak points, told them what to watch for, and he’s just going to have to trust them to follow orders. He stands near the cameraman filming the scene and keeps a watchful eye between Jared in the driver seat and everything else around them. Jensen can hear Jared well enough anyway that he doesn’t have to take his eyes from the crowd too often; Jared’s yelling back and forth with the person in the passenger seat, acting out an argument. It’s more than a little jarring, since Jared’s very on edge in the scene and making a lot of sudden moves, including ducking. It’s completely screwing with his instincts.

He’s relieved when Jared gets out of the car and is close to him, where security can stand between Jared and the people all around them.

They’re almost inside one of the brick office buildings when a car comes screaming down the street. Jensen’s eyes pull to the side, noting how the driver avoids _everything_ in his path—and there are a _lot_ of cars “driving” down the street—tires screeching against the pavement as the car pulls a perfect 180 between cars parked on either side of the street.

Jensen grabs Sandy by the shoulder as she’s hurrying by. “Who is that driving?” he asks, nodding in the direction of the car.

“Oh. That’s Chad. Chad Michael Murray. He’s Jared’s main stunt driver on every movie, they’ve been best friends for years.”

The door to the car opens and Jensen tells the security guard nearest him to follow Jared into the building. The driver’s just a little shorter than him, slim with dirty blond hair and rugged pretty boy looks, completely confident in his jeans with the knees ripped out, black t-shirt with the word “supertasty” printed across his chest as he lifts a hand to his mouth and lights a cigarette.

“High score?” Chad asks the camera crew, yanking the cigarette from his mouth. Peter yells back affirmative. 

“You gotta be fucking kidding me?” Chad demands, exhaling smoke. “We did that shit in one take?” He raises his hands in the air and then takes a bow. “High score,” Chad says, grinning. “I broke it.” He takes another drag of his cigarette as he looks over at Jensen approaching.

“Mr. Murray, I’m Mr. Ackles,” Jensen says, walking up to Chad, hand extended. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”

“I’m not gay,” Chad says, just looking at him.

“Not in the market, myself,” Jensen answers, wry as he drops his hand. “I’m Mr. Padalecki’s bodyguard.”

Chad squints at him around the smoke rolling off the end of his cigarette. “You don’t _look_ like a bodyguard.”

“What’d you expect?”

“I don’t know. Tough guy, maybe?”

“This is my disguise.”

“Right. Okay. So is Jay in trouble?” 

“He’s being stalked and threatened. He hasn’t been harmed yet. I’m here to make sure he stays that way. To do that, I need a partner, someone to help me do security checks and I need someone who can drive for him—really drive, if it comes down to needing to get away quickly. And I need it to be someone who isn’t just doing it for money.” 

Chad leans back against the sports car and looks Jensen up and down as he drags on his cigarette. “You’re built bigger than me, but… You’re really a bodyguard?”

“It’s about a lot more than size.” 

“Huh,” Chad huffs out a cloud of smoke. “Must be. So I got this right? You’re Jared’s bodyguard, you need help helping Jared, and it pays money, _and_ there might be real life car chases involved?”

“That’s right. You can take twenty-four hours to make up your mind about it, but I need you to decide by then.”

Chad nods, exhaling. Then he sticks out his hand and says, “Howdy, partner.”

 

Jared spends the afternoon on another, safer shoot indoors—only Jared and another cast member (who isn’t Jason) working together—and Jensen leaves Oliver, another member of the security team, to watch over him. Jensen spends the rest of the day with the security team at the mansion, going over the system upgrades and overseeing the implementation of some improvements. It’s not the most interesting work he could be doing, but it’s important.

He checks in with Oliver several times via headset to see how Jared’s doing, and things proceed smoothly until it’s almost ten o’clock and his eyes are starting to get tired, staring at a computer screen over Sam’s shoulder as she shows him the various camera angles of the surveillance equipment around the mansion in addition to the audio coming in.

“Good,” he finally nods, and she shoots him a quick smile. He leaves feeling satisfied, and heads to the kitchen to see what he can find for dinner. He makes a quick sandwich and then does his house rounds.

Jared gets back from shooting at around eleven, and it’s midnight before he has to do his check of Jared’s room. Jared looks tired, standing by while Jensen works, and he doesn’t say a word to Jensen at all. Which is…odd, but not unwelcome. Good. That hopefully means Jared took his words seriously last night and will let him do his job in peace.

He doubts it, though.

 

Jensen does his set checks early in the morning, while Jared’s still in make-up. 

“Are we go?” Peter asks, and Jensen nods. “Get Jared down here,” Peter yells at one of his assistants.

“I’ll get him,” Jensen says. “I was just headed back there, anyway.”

Jared’s alone, reclined back in the make-up chair, eyes closed and hands clasped behind his head with his iPod headphones stuck in his ears, one motorcycle-booted foot tapping a rhythm against the air. He’s wearing a black designer tank top and jeans, face inhumanly smooth and heavy with make-up that’s obvious to Jensen’s eyes but will barely register on camera. Long, thickly muscled body stretched out in repose, calves hanging well over the end of the foot rest, Jensen is struck for a moment by how monstrously _huge_ Jared is.

There’s security outside, of course, and the make-up girls are in the back—he can hear them—but lying there, eyes closed, unable to hear, Jared makes such a perfect target for anyone looking to hurt him that Jensen can feel his instincts rise up hard. Jared’s built like a ton of bricks, but he’s still as vulnerable as a child.

Jensen stands there, one minute stretching into two, and listens to the girls in the back, low murmur of their voices and the sound of hands raking through a jumbled bin. Jared’s eyes are still closed, and he looks dimly happy, tinny sound of treble escaping the headphones in his ears, foot still tapping. Jensen wonders how long he could stand here without Jared knowing. 

He could be anyone, could _kill_ Jared before anyone else had a chance to get close.

Jensen walks on light, soundless feet to the make-up chair, stepping around it and standing behind the headrest. He looks down at Jared’s peaceful face, not registering any change in expression. His dark lashes rest against his heavily made-up cheeks, high, sharp cheekbones, tinged lightly pink with make-up, following the line down to a wide, full mouth and an impressive jaw line. It strikes him then, how gorgeous Jared is, how innocent he looks at rest like this.

Jensen lifts one of his hands, running it through the air an inch above Jared’s face, hand curving to follow the landscape of Jared’s features. Jared’s eyes tighten a fraction, foot pausing in its rhythm, but that’s it. Jensen lets his hand drift down closer, skin almost touching skin, ghosting lightly on the thin air between.

Jared’s lips part slightly, breath drawn quickly between them, and Jensen can feel the air change, being pulled into Jared’s body just beneath his palm. Jared’s breathing speeds up just a fraction, so minutely that no one else would have noticed, but Jensen _does_ , and it’s puzzling, because, it’s almost as if Jared _does_ sense him on some subconscious level, one that is…

Well, _more_ than pleased by Jensen’s nearness, if he’s honest. 

He hesitates there for a long moment, feeling the warm puffs of Jared’s breath against his palm, hand drifting downward, closer… so close that he can almost touch Jared’s skin. Jared’s breathing speeds up another subtle notch, lips parting a bit wider, as if in welcome, and for a moment Jensen wonders what they’d feel like if he did touch them, fingertips brushing lightly against the make-up darkened pink swell, if it would feel as smooth and soft as it looks.

It occurs to Jensen then that the situation has changed. This is no longer Jensen testing Jared’s awareness; it’s something far more intimate, almost… erotic.

Jensen pulls his hand away and snaps his fingers six inches in front of Jared’s face. 

Jared’s eyes fly open in surprise, lighting on Jensen for a split second before he sits up, pulling the headphones from his ears. He turns his massive upper body halfway around in the seat and peers at Jensen, surprised and mildly annoyed.

“The hell are you sneaking up on me for?”

“Just testing to see how aware you were,” Jensen says, shrugging. He slides his hand into his pocket, palm still warm and tingling where he’d nearly touched Jared. He closes his fingers against the sensation, straightens his stance. “If I can get that close without you knowing, so could the person threatening you.”

Jared seems unimpressed, shrugging a shoulder as Jensen walks around to the side of the chair. “Well, even if there _is_ someone out to get me, that’s why you’re here, right?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little more paranoid.”

“No thanks,” Jared smirks. “You’ve got that completely covered. Why are you here, anyway? Is it time?”

“They’re ready for you.”

“Then let’s go,” Jared says, sitting the chair upright and rising from it. “I’ve been sitting here forever, waiting.”

“I’m not going. Mr. Bennet is going to walk with you and be on set with you this morning.”

“Where are you gonna be?” Jared asks, brows rising.

“I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Murray for most of the morning to go over some things.”

The make-up girls arrive back in the room, still murmuring between themselves, tiny tins and tissues in their hands.

“What things?” Jared asks, brows drawing together, so confused that Jensen finds himself vaguely amused.

“I hired him to help me with security, and to be your driver, full-time.”

“You hired _Chad_ to help you?” Jared asks, looking genuinely shocked.

“Technically, you’re paying for it, but yes,” Jensen answers.

Jared starts laughing; a loud, booming, and joyous sound. He puts a hand over his mouth and laughs even harder, until finally his shoulders are shaking and he’s bent in half, wiping away tears. The make-up girls are chastising him for smearing his make-up, their hands waving tissues helplessly through the air while Jared keeps laughing.

“This is... funny,” Jensen nods. It’s strictly an observation, not a question.

It takes Jared a minute or two to regain control of himself, wiping careful fingertips against his eyes, still chuckling out laughter.

“Oh, just you wait and see,” Jared says, and starts laughing all over again.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

That should have been Jensen’s first clue. Actually, Jensen’s first clue should have been Chad’s attitude at the filming location, and sure, he’d expected some of that attitude to carry over into the job, but he figured since Chad’s Jared’s best friend, it shouldn’t get in the way much.

“Hey, Jensen,” Chad says when he meets Jensen, bright and early, coffee in his hand, sunglasses on. He’s dressed blue-jeans and a black tank top, monstrosity of a gold cross hanging from his neck.

“Mr. Murray, I prefer to be called Mr. Ackles. Also, you’ll need a suit,” Jensen says, looking at him. “This is a professional job.”

“Okay, first. Suits are for Hollywood parties. Much fun as you are, you’re no fucking party,” Chad says, his voice dry. “Second, I’m here to help Jared, not to be professional, _Jenny_.”

“Do _not_ call me that.”

“See. Suddenly Jensen’s not sounding so bad, is it?” Chad asks with a grin as he holds up his hands like he’s just taught Jensen a lesson. “Now,” he says, putting a hand to his own chest. “Jensen. You call _me_ Chad…” he says, speaking slow, “and we’re square. How hard was that, huh? I feel like we’re making progress as a team already.”

Jensen could kill him. No one would ever find the body.

But. He _needs_ Chad, to do the driving if nothing else. He’s the best man for the job.

Maybe just a flesh wound to the shoulder?

No, then he couldn’t drive.

Dammit.

 

By noon, Jensen’s convinced that he could murder Chad in the middle of the street and get off on a “temporary insanity” plea. No one would convict him. They might even give him a medal of commendation.

They’re both laying on the concrete of the garage floor, looking underneath the private car, Jensen shining a flashlight up into the undercarriage. “If there was bomb, on this model, it would probably be about here in this space,” Jensen says, indicating the area under the driver’s seat and two feet behind it with the flashlight. “But it could be hidden anywhere. You need to make a full sweep, down the other side, and especially the center cavity. There’s a gap there, not very big, but it could get the job done depending on the materials. It’s here, between the--”

“I got it, dude,” Chad says, sounding unimpressed. “Check everything in the guts of the car. Check everything under the hood. Check the seams in the back and front seats, check the trunk. I don’t need the micromanagement version.”

“I need to know you’re taking this seriously, Chad. I need to know I can trust you to do these checks on your own if you need to.”

“Trust me. I got this. A mentally-challenged monkey could do this. We gonna drive this thing, or what?”

Jensen clicks off the flashlight and bites back a sigh. Maybe they should try driving for a while. At least Jensen’s confident in Chad’s ability to do that.

Chad gets the keys from the board inside the house, tossing them up in the air before catching them and unlocking the doors. They slide into the car and shut the doors, Chad pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Jensen fastens his seat belt and Chad follows suit, starting the engine. Chad heads down to the film lot, where they have some permanent sets, and they stop briefly to clear with the supervisor before heading to an empty area with brick buildings built up around city streets.

Jensen knows Chad is good—good enough that he can do what Jensen asks without killing them. He’s as sure as he can be about that. But Jensen needs to know _exactly_ how good Chad is. “Let’s try some basics first, just so I can get a feel. How fast can you take a 90 degree angle turn?”

Chad grins at him and shifts into a higher gear, foot flooring the gas pedal until they’re roaring down the street. Jensen’s fingers flex slightly against his thigh, and then they’re taking the turn, tires screeching so loud that it’s all Jensen can hear, ass end of the car sliding sideways before Chad yanks it back into control, fishtailing violently the other way. The smell of burning rubber rises, sharp and acrid inside the car, and Jensen can feel how close to the edge they are, the car a hair’s breadth from being completely out of control. The car snaps back the other way, and then wriggles, thrashing back and forth like a wild animal until Chad forces it back into a straight line, momentum still carrying through the body of the car with a rocking motion as the wheels grip the pavement tight again.

Chad slams on the brakes then, car shuddering, wheels screaming, back end slipping sideways a little before he throws the car in reverse and shifts, flooring it. His hands move on the steering wheel, ass end of the car whipping around the turn, front end sliding, buildings flying by through the window through the smoke of the tires until Chad whips the car the other way, sending the front end careening in the opposite direction. Jensen’s body jerks sharply inside the seatbelt, and the car feels like it’s going to keep going, keep sliding until it hits pavement and then brick with an abrupt halt—Chad floors the gas even _harder_ , shifting and yanking the car back and forth in quick motions until it settles evenly onto the pavement again, flying down the street backwards in his own lane.

He slows down more gradually this time, puts the car into neutral and looks over at Jensen with a brilliant, feral grin.

“How about that? That work for you?”

Jensen takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. That works.”

“So,” Chad says, smiling even wider. “What’s next?”

 

After Jensen’s done with Chad, he gets back to find that Colin’s gone with Jared to keep guard outside the house gym while Jared works out. Jared doesn’t have anything else scheduled until tonight, which leaves Jensen with an afternoon to fill. 

He stops by to see Mr. Rosenbaum first, who presents him with the file he’d badgered out of the man, holding it up and out at a distance, not even looking up from his planner, one ear stuck to the phone.

Jensen takes it without a word and leaves, grateful not to have to speak to him.

He goes to the library, sitting down at the highly polished wooden table set off to one side. The lights are low; the whole room filled with dark, polished wood and burnished copper lamps. Rows and rows of books line the shelves wall to wall in an octagon shape, and the smell of paper hangs heavy on the air. It’s a comforting scent, one that reminds him of his father’s study as a child—a quiet, serene place that he hasn’t thought of in years. The smell fills his nose and his mind, dulls his senses and threatens to lull him into thinking this is a safe place.

He can’t have that. He needs to stay sharp. 

He picks up the file again and heads down the hall in search of another quiet room, and finds one a little further on towards Jared’s room. It’s smallish compared to many of the rooms, richly carpeted and furnished with a sofa and loveseat surrounding a coffee table, overstuffed chair set off to one side, all centered around an entertainment center sporting a huge flat screen television. Off to one side, there’s a media case containing an array of movies inside their cases, and next to that, set in one corner as if abandoned and forgotten there, a wooden straight backed chair with a huge, black DVD binder case set upon its seat. Jensen puts the file down on the coffee table and picks up the DVD binder, flipping it open. There are no DVDs inside it, just the faint smell of plastic. The whole room has a feel of… emptiness, disuse, like no has ever occupied it longer than to put it together.

He puts the binder on the floor and pulls the chair over to the coffee table, and then shuts the door. He pushes open the curtains, letting the sunlight stream in, and then settles on the hard wooden seat.

Jared Tristan Padalecki is written across the label on the file in neat, blue felt-tipped pen. There’s a printed sticker on the front which reads “Confidential” and when Jensen opens the folder, there’s a sticky note in bright pink that catches his attention immediately. “Keep this under lock and key!” written across it in almost illegible, hurried script that can’t be anyone’s but Mike’s, and Jensen thinks briefly that it’s a lucky thing he’s fluent in ‘asshole’.

He sticks the note on the inside cover and starts leafing through the contents.

He sifts through the papers spread out over the table with one hand, catching a headline here, a picture there. It’s all here, Jared’s life, laid out in neat little blocks of text and illustrated with a spectrum of photographs: black and white, Kodak family color, the faded sepia of Instamatic cameras. At first brush, the file reads easily, showcasing all the aspects Jensen would expect from such a privileged life; rich parents who are megastars in the industry themselves, the best education money could buy, awards and achievements, cast pictures from movies, pictures of boyfriends and friends all happily laughing in various locations. There’s a list of names to go with the pictures, and brief histories of each person, school names, filming locations. He already knows all the details listed about the faces he recognizes, and there’s nothing else that stands out. Jared’s done a lot of dating, but not many serious relationships, and of those, no other bad break-ups or problems afterward except for Jason. 

There’s a list of names of people Jared beat out for parts, and Jensen will have to go through that, but for now…

He sits up against the chair back and loosens his tie just a bit. His eyes travel the room again and fall on the media case with all the movies still inside their DVD covers. He recognizes the titles on the top shelf from the files; they’re all movies Jared has starred in, arranged from first role to most recent. They end one third of the way from the end of the shelf, waiting for more to be added. Jensen would find it a little vain if he weren’t completely sure no one’s ever used this room. It strikes him as the kind of thing Mike might have set up.

Jensen gets to his feet and pushes on the glass door, popping it open. He reaches in and pulls out the title of one he recognizes from somewhere else besides the file—if he knows the name, it had to be decent or at a least a huge blockbuster. He’s never owned a video store card, much less had a Netflix account. The movie is still wrapped in plastic, never even opened. Jensen reads the back cover and decides the story doesn’t sound bad. He flips it over in his hand. Jared’s on the cover, ripped muscles oiled up and covered in smudges of black dirt, looking deadly with squinted eyes directed at the camera and a machine gun slung low across his hip. It’s… not an entirely unappealing image. It’s what underneath the physical--or rather, what isn’t--that doesn’t appeal.

He puts the movie back on the shelf, and goes back to the file.

 

Once all the new security is in place, Jensen starts spending two hours a day in the house gym by himself, falling back into his workout routine. 

His hair is still slightly damp from the gym shower, suit put back into place when the radio in his ear crackles to life.

“Mr. Ackles? Could you come up to the security office?” Sam’s voice is tense, and in the background, Jensen can hear Jared’s voice booming with anger. 

Jensen gets there inside of two minutes, to find Jared well into a tirade focused on Sam, her blonde head nodding with Jared’s every word, Ethan standing to one side and trying ineffectually to calm Jared.

“I understand, Jared, but it’s--” Sam breaks off as she sees Jensen, and Jared whirls around.

“You’re telling me,” Jared’s voice is loud and rising fast, directed at Jensen, “that Richard Kline-- _ **the** Richard Kline_ \--is being turned away at my front gate? Because he doesn’t have an _appointment_?”

Jensen should have expected this.

“That’s correct,” Jensen tells him. “The rules were set in place well over a week ago. Everyone was notified of the new procedure.”

“I _live_ here,” Jared yells, like Jensen might be particularly dense. “Richard is my _friend_ , as well as a very important coll--”

“Mr. Padalecki,” Jensen says, cutting him off, stepping closer to Jared and looking him dead in the eye. “I can have security admit him on your say-so. But they’ll still have to follow procedure and check his vehicle and his person.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jared hisses, shaking his head. “Ethan?” Jared asks, looking at the older man, angry and pleading all at once.

“It’s for your safety, Jared. Richard will understand.”

Jared throws up his hands and strides from the room.

 

 

Jared’s already up and dressed and doing his morning run on the grounds, and it makes Jensen slightly uneasy. It’s inside the walls, and inside the ring of cameras protecting the edges of the property, but it’s a routine, and Jared doing anything routine isn’t a great idea right now. 

Jensen waits for him near where the path meets the long, circular driveway. He can hear Jared coming long before he sees him; the steady sound of footfalls against the asphalt in perfect, unbroken rhythm, and then, as he draws closer, the sound of even breathing in and out in time. Jared comes into sight around a curve just after that, and Jensen moves to meet him, blinking against the morning sunlight. He steps forward, tree branch obscuring the sun, and Jared comes into full focus.

Jensen is struck again by how huge he is; how tall and powerfully built, muscles tanned and lean, flexing beneath the skin as he runs, body covered in a light sheen of sweat that shows off the cut and curve of him in greater detail. Dressed in a t-shirt and running shorts, he’s showing off miles of skin without even trying—there’s just so much of him. Jared’s still a fair enough distance away that Jensen has a few long seconds to note the hollow of his throat, the well-muscled length of his neck down to his massive chest, tapering down to a narrow waist and hips. Jensen can see the cut of his stomach muscles through the thin material, clinging and releasing with every back-and-forth motion of his arms, the bare, thickly muscled thighs and calves flexing with each movement of his legs.

Jensen’s always had an eye for detail; it’s part of what made him so good in the military, and it serves him equally well, now, in this field. Occasionally, though--like right now--it’s not always a good thing.

There’s sweat dampening Jared’s t-shirt as he jogs towards Jensen, slowing to a stop. Jared pulls the headphones from his ears and tucks them inside the pocket of the shirt, dark brows drawing together, head tilting to the side slightly as he looks at Jensen.

“Is something wrong?”

Jared’s close enough now that Jensen can smell him, the salty tang of sweat on his otherwise clean skin.

“No. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“I’m all ears,” Jared says with the slightest edge of sarcasm as he stands straight, chest puffing up slightly like he’s preparing for a blow. 

“I’m going to have Mr. Bennet start jogging with you in the mornings.” Truth be told, he’d like to run with Jared himself--the better to keep an eye on Jared and keep himself in shape at the same time. But that would be edging on friendly.

Jared sends him a dangerous look. “You’re seriously encroaching on my space.”

“Part of the job.”

“I have enough people watching me all the time,” Jared says, and then plants his feet apart, reaching down with two hands as he stretches, palms wrapping around the top of his foot, muscles rippling in his back where his shirt rides up. Jared glances up through his hair as he reaches for his other foot and leans forward, stretching the other leg. “I think I can go for a run on my own property without a babysitter.”

Jensen just watches him stretch for a moment, debating if this is another attempt on Jared’s part at flirting with Jensen. If it were that, Jensen could happily set his jaw and move on. But Jared is genuinely annoyed, and he’s completely unselfconscious right now.

“It’s not my intention to upset your life,” Jensen says, and something in the way he says it makes Jared stop, rise to his full height.

“Yeah?” There’s an uncertainty, a hesitation in Jared for a moment before he goes on. “Well, you’re awfully good at it.”

Jensen could explain; could tell Jared what it means to protect someone, how their comforts often have to be sacrificed without regret in the name of safety, but he’s sure it wouldn’t make a difference. As far as Jared’s concerned, all Jensen is doing is taking away his freedom and screwing up his perfect Hollywood lifestyle.

“I know,” is all he says.

Jared just looks at him for a moment like he’s waiting for more, expectance slowly turning to disbelief. Finally Jared snorts and shakes his head. He brushes past Jensen without another word, walking up the driveway.

Jensen waits until Jared’s footsteps fade away to silence, the chirp of morning birds the only sound filling his ears, and then he turns to follow.

 

 

Jensen continues to use the movie room whenever he needs a quiet place to follow up on leads or call his contacts. He’s been busy for a few days with the new security system and dealing with Chad, and he hasn’t spend much time with Jared, who’s too busy shooting indoors most of the time to do anything else anyway. 

He hangs up his cell phone and sighs. No leads from his contacts on analyzing the messages, no more threats or incidents, and things are falling into a bit of a routine that makes Jensen uncomfortable. 

His eyes fall on the movies on the shelf, and he gets up, walks over to the case and pops it open. His fingers trail across the edge of the movie he looked at before, and he pulls it free, looks it over again.

The cellophane wrapper comes free easily enough, and the DVD player powers up at his touch, tray opening obediently. He slots the movie into it, turns on the TV and sits down backwards on the wooden chair, legs on either side, arms folded across the back. 

It’s a pretty good movie, but Jared… Jared’s very good in it. His perfectly sculpted body is showcased as often as possible, of course, and it’s not exactly hard on the eyes, but Jensen’s far more intrigued by the amount of emotion Jared is able to bring to the role. The nuances of emotional pain, the righteous, intensely burning anger locked up tight behind his hazel eyes. The character has a depth of passion that Jensen’s yet to witness in Jared in his everyday life, and Jared seems to convey it so easily, as if it were born inside him and simply spilling out.

Jensen rubs a thumb along the line of his jaw. Maybe there’s something more to Jared than he’d initially thought. Or maybe, and more likely, he decides as he watches Jared blaze a bloody path of vengeance, this is why they call it ‘acting’.

 

Outside the door to a room he never uses, Jared pauses in his step, the sound of his own voice catching him. It’s low, muffled by the thick wood of the door, but he can hear the line, clear as day above the epic music swelling in the background.

_“There was only one way this was ever going to end.”_

His brows draw together, and he leans closer to the door, wondering who would possibly be watching one of his movies. Everyone in the house has either already seen them or isn’t interested, and they wouldn’t be shut up in this room watching them anyway. The only person it could be is …

Jensen? Jensen’s watching one of his movies? That can’t be right. It doesn’t strike him at all like the sort of thing Jensen would do. Jensen, with his steely eyes and his rules and escape plans, taking time out to watch _any_ movie—much less one of Jared’s—just doesn’t track.

He’s half tempted to throw the door open, but if it is Jensen, Jared’s interruption is likely to cause him to stop watching. 

It _is_ Jensen. It can’t be anyone else.

He stands there for a moment, shaking his head.

Huh.

 

 

Jared starts watching Jensen more after that, and what he sees when he really looks at Jensen is extraordinary. Jensen moves with… _grace_. There’s no other word for it, no matter how much it doesn’t fit with his robotic impression of the man, and once Jared sees it for the first time, he can’t _un_ -see it. Jensen has a lithe, easy grace that’s understated, every movement efficient and perfect, nothing expended on flourish, and nothing needed. 

Sometimes, like now, Jensen’s glancing at him when he looks, those sharp eyes skating over Jared momentarily with a look that Jared can’t quite put a name to before Jensen’s moved on.

Okay, Jared thinks, biting his lip as he watches Jensen sink to his knees to look underneath the car, suit pants clinging to his ass, he’s also still really fucking _hot_ —that hasn’t changed a bit. So hot that it’s hard not to be distracted by it sometimes. Okay, most of the time.

Jared settles in the car and leans against the window, eyes stealing glances at Jensen sitting across from him. Jensen… is as relaxed as Jensen ever gets, secure in the safety of the moving car.

The late afternoon sunlight catches along Jensen’s cheekbone, faintest glisten of stubble scattering light like glitter down the sharp angle of his jaw. He’s squinting behind his black sunglasses; Jared can see the familiar pattern of skin crinkling at the corner of his eye, and he has one hand resting against his chin, index finger running just under his plush lower lip. His mouth is slightly pursed, and as Jared turns his face, angling for a better view, Jensen pulls the sunglasses from his face and rubs the back of his hand across his closed eyes. He blinks them open again and when he does, Jensen looks… different. The smooth confidence is gone and he looks plain somehow without it—more human, tired and suddenly old beyond his years. He glances down at the sunglasses in his hand, brows drawing together in a frown, and his eyes are momentarily haunted, filled with memory. 

Jensen blinks again and breathes out slowly. As if he suddenly senses Jared looking, he turns to catch Jared’s eye. The look fades in an instant, his eyes guarded and sharp as he slides his sunglasses back on.

Jared’s left wondering for the next half an hour if he even saw it at all. 

 

Jensen’s noticed the way Jared’s been looking at him lately; he’d have to be blind not to. He’s not sure what to make of it, isn’t sure exactly what’s changed. But there’s been an unspoken, uneasy peace between them since Jared started watching him, and Jensen can’t help but feel grateful for it. Jared seems to be wrapped in some kind of contemplative silence, and there’s part of Jensen that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop; for Jared to say whatever’s been on his mind. But Jared keeps to himself, and Jensen, oddly, finds himself growing curious about _why_. Jared’s not at all the silent type. It doesn’t sit right on him.

Not only does it give Jensen a reason _to_ contemplate Jared, but it gives him far too much time to engage in said contemplation.

They’re in downtown LA for an important dinner, and Jensen is watching the crowd carefully, walking side by side with Jared as they approach the restaurant. There’s a small empty space just outside the frosted glass doors, and as they step into it, a little girl darts from the crowd passing by. Jensen’s halfway into moving to stop her when her height and the adoring smile on her face registers. She reaches out to Jared with her little fingers and tugs on the sleeve of his suit coat. She can’t be more than six, sandy colored curls framing her tiny, smiling face as she peers up at him.

“Jared!”

Jared stops, turning to look, neck craning down until he sees her, and then... his whole face lights up like Jensen’s never seen, bursting into a smile so bright and wide that it’s blinding. 

“Hey there,” Jared says, still grinning, dropping down to one knee to look her in the eye. He takes her little hand in his own, her fingers dwarfed by the size of his palm, his thumb coming to rest over her whole hand.

“Mommy, mommy! Look! Jared!”

The little girl is crying out excitedly, and there are still people pushing past them, and there could be a scene any moment now… but for a moment, Jensen is completely transfixed by Jared’s face. It’s filled with pure joy, not a trace of Hollywood in his smile, something sweet and genuine shining right through his usual star-polished veneer. He’s gentle as he speaks to the girl in low tones with his smiling mouth, hazel eyes bright. 

She throws her arms around his neck without warning, and Jared laughs, hugging her back without hesitation.

The whole exchange happens in the span of maybe a minute before the girl’s mother arrives, pulling the girl away and apologizing in stuttering sentences before Jared finally rises to his feet and tells her it’s no trouble at all. He gives the girl one last burst of a grin, and then he tells them goodbye, looking the mother in the eye again.

The smile he gives her is entirely different.

Jensen only has a second to register the change—the way Jared’s face shifts, smoothing out and going more distant behind that superstar’s dazzling grin--before the door opens in front of them and Jared turns away. 

Jensen watches the people around them as they walk inside, pushing away the image. He’s seated next to Jared at a banquet style table, and everyone is too busy talking, clinking glasses and laughing to pay much attention to him. 

He finds himself glancing over at Jared throughout the night, and there isn’t a trace of the genuine smile he saw earlier.

 

By the time they leave the restaurant, Jared’s had a couple glasses of wine, and there’s a lazy smile painted across the warm glow of his face, eyes slightly more heavily lidded than normal as he bumps his shoulder against Jensen’s.

Jensen tilts his head at Jared, watching the group of people ahead of them from the corner of his eye. “What?”

“You watched one of my movies.” Jared’s smile warms even more, parting to reveal the gleam of his white teeth. “Don’t lie.”

Jared must have passed by the room while he was watching. It’s a little disconcerting, knowing that Jared knows, but it’s not like it’s a big deal. Jensen tilts his head further to the side in a quick shrug. “I did.”

“So what’d you think?” Jared asks.

“It was good,” Jensen says, almost indifferently.

“Just good?”

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to feed your ego,” Jensen says, tone dry, eyes traveling along the street as they walk to the car.

“Hey, you’re the one who watched it,” Jared practically grins. “The least you can do is tell me what you thought about it. I was awesome, right? That’s why you don’t wanna say anything.”

Jensen cuts his eyes at Jared, takes in the wide, playful grin and shakes his head, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There’s a bright flash of light, freezing the moment, and Jensen spins on the guy holding the camera, eyes narrowing. The guy is obviously some kind of reporter, and Jared’s still nudging against him, not the slightest bit fazed.

“Come on,” Jensen says, nodding in the direction of the car. “Let’s get you home.”

 

 

It’s three days later when he sees the picture, magazine left turned open to the page in Jared’s trailer. It’s a page of candid star shots, and their picture is the largest one on the page. Jensen and Jared are both dressed in their tuxedoes, walking down the Los Angeles city street, just apart from the crowd. Jared leaning into him, shoulders almost touching, face canted towards him with a warm, brilliant smile. Jensen’s looking back at Jared, corners of his eyes crinkling with rueful amusement, edge of his mouth just tugging upward.

They could be friends… maybe even best friends, to anyone who didn’t know them; Jared playing the part of the clown, Jensen playing the straight man to Jared’s comedy, amused and enduring.

“Ready?” Jared asks as he steps out of the bathroom.

Jensen nods and pulls his eyes from the open page.

It’s a good picture.

But it’s just a snapshot. It doesn’t reflect anything of the reality.

 

To Jared’s surprise, Jensen doesn’t put up much protest against the _Saturday Night Live_ guest-host spot that comes up at the last minute--something about it being unpredictable, though he does go on about the security detail he’s going to have to put together for it. Jared’s got his own problems preparing, anyway, not the least of which is trying not to bitch Mike out for mixing up the scheduling date. Fortunately, Peter has some scenes scheduled with Jason for the weekend anyway and he won’t need Jared until Sunday afternoon. Which makes things tight, getting back and going right back to work, but not impossible.

The show sends the scripts of the skits and monologues over on Friday afternoon, and Jared spends the early Saturday morning hours during the flight studying them. The day goes by quickly; shuttling through wardrobe and meeting with make-up and then to rehearsal for the rest of the afternoon. He barely has time to notice Jensen, who’s busy with building security anyway.

The show comes off without a hitch with the teleprompters to help him out, and he waves goodbye to the cameras and applause with the cast and makes his exit with Jensen, Oliver, Colin and Mike all surrounding him.

They go from the building to the limo without any problems, people screaming and waving from a fair distance away behind the roped off lines. Jared hasn’t even seen the inside of his hotel room yet when they arrive at the Marriot Marquis Times Square, but after a sixteen hour day, he’s definitely looking forward to it.

Mike’s busy talking to some bigwig producer Jared can’t remember the name of, and they peel off from the group, heading in the direction of the hotel bar. The rest of them take the first set of elevators up to the second reception level. The hotel is split into two levels, the first set of elevators going to the normal rooms—if you can call them that at five-hundred dollars a night—the second set found on this level going to the penthouse apartments reserved for very important guests. You can’t even get to this level without a special card. Jensen stops to talk to the security guards stationed by the desk, sending Oliver and Colin up ahead of them to make sure things are all right in Jared’s room.

Jared bites back a sigh and leans against the desk. He’d ask Jensen if he could go up with the others, but clearly Jensen means to see Jared there himself and all it would do is waste more time. Better to get to bed five minutes later than twenty, and he’s too tired to feel like arguing anyway. He half listens to Jensen having a discussion with the lead guard—something about a problem with the hotel generators—that leaves Jensen with a light line furrowing between his brows. The guard assures Jensen that building maintenance is seeing to the issue, blah blah blah, and God, Jared’s leaning heavily over the counter, ready to fall asleep right here.

He rouses himself as Jensen motions him along and they finally get into the elevator. The doors slide shut as Jensen swipes his key card, and he presses the button for Jared’s floor. Jared’s leaning against the back wall of the elevator, handrail pushing just under his ass, arms folded under his chest, and Jensen’s standing in front of him nearer the doors, waiting for them to open.

The elevator lights flicker, tiny box shuddering, and they both glance up then look at each other. The elevator hiccups one more time and then starts moving smoothly again, and Jared’s just about to crack a joke when the elevator hitches again and dies, lights fading to blackness.

There’s a moment in the pitch black where all Jared can hear is Jensen breathing, and then a tiny light flickers to life from above the operating panel. It’s really dim, the bulb edging toward a faint orange hue that jitters uncertainly, growing even fainter.

“Great,” Jensen sighs. He takes a step closer to the emergency light and taps the box, and the light flickers even more dangerously. Jensen steps back and folds his arms over his chest, turning slightly towards Jared. “Well,” he goes on after a moment, looking around at the polished wood and mirrors inside the elevator like he’s gauging it, “we’re probably safe enough in here while the power’s out.”

“You don’t really think someone’s going to come down the elevator cable through the roof to get me, do you?” Jared asks with an incredulous laugh.

“No,” Jensen says after a moment. Jared can barely see him in the dim, flickering light, but he’s fairly sure he can see Jensen’s mouth tug in a smirk. “Not really.”

“Why would you even think about that?” Jared asks. He really can’t get his head around the way this guy thinks, and it’s as intriguing as is it frustrating. 

Jensen is quiet for a moment, like he’s debating answering that. Jensen’s face is lost almost completely to the shadows with his back to the dim light, but it seems to get even darker when he speaks. “I spent a lot of time in terrorist countries. I learned that you always have to consider every single possibility.” 

Jared presses his lips together, rolling them under, between his teeth. He knows Jensen was a SEAL, but he’s never given much thought to what it was like. He can’t really imagine it, outside of what he’s seen in movies, and he’s sure it’s not anywhere near as deadly and crazy as that. “What… what was it like?” Jared asks after a moment.

He can _feel_ Jensen look up with his eyes, the rest of his body completely still, can easily imagine the sharp, penetrating gaze Jensen’s leveling on him. There’s nothing but the sound of breathing between them for a long moment, and Jared waits, his exhaustion lending him a hazy sense of patience.

“Nothing like your movies,” Jensen answers with an air of finality.

Jared can tell Jensen doesn’t want to talk about it—gets the sense, in fact, that Jensen might be belittling his ability to understand such things—but it’s not like they’ve got anything better do. “Nothing at all?”

Jensen takes a deep breath and exhales. “Sometimes they get some things right. Let’s leave it at that.” Jensen’s voice is curt, dismissive.

Jared nods, mouth curling in a bitter smile. “Right, got it. You know, every time I think I might be starting to like you…” he says, trailing off and shaking his head.

Jensen hesitates for an instant before he replies, “Liking me isn’t essential to our working relationship.”

“Yeah,” Jared laughs, sound echoing harshly off the close walls as he steps forward off the wall. “Wouldn’t want _that_.” He clicks his teeth together as he watches Jensen turn away, and shit, here he is, trapped in a fucking _elevator_ for Christ’s sake with the single hottest guy he’s ever seen and he can’t even get a conversation going, much less—

The floor pitches under his feet, sending Jared staggering a step forward, and Jensen turns so fast Jared barely has time to realize what happened until Jensen’s gripping him by the shoulders. Their faces aren’t even close to two feet apart, less than six inches between them, and there’s something in Jensen’s expression…

Jensen pushes him away gently, and Jared’s almost got his balance back when the elevator jerks with a sudden violent lurch. Jared pitches forward, and this time he has a split second to realize he’s not going to be able to balance himself, to try and twist for the landing, hands coming out to catch himself—

And suddenly there are arms around him, catching him and breaking his fall. The span of a heartbeat and he’s lying on top of Jensen—the length of him warm and solid chest to hip, faces so close that Jared can feel his breath ghost against his chin, those eyes staring right at Jared’s, something that isn’t just concern written in the crinkles at the edges, the line between his brows. 

The elevator jerks again, and Jared’s face jerks in time with it, cheek bumping Jensen’s, sliding over the faint stubble, body pressing down hard with motion, and he can feel every inch of Jensen shoved against him, the way his muscles mold to Jared’s, the soft warmth of his lips gliding over Jared’s jaw as his head bobs back up, the even hotter, soft bulge between his legs pushing into Jared. Pressed together, Jared is aware of every single place Jensen is touching him, thrill like electricity crackling through him, Jensen feeling him just as completely as he feels Jensen, every curve of muscle, line of bone, the first swell of his cock beginning to harden. Jensen’s eyes darken, tightening—sudden flash in them that makes Jared’s stomach swoop in a way that has nothing to do with the elevator.

“Jensen…” ragged breath spilling out the sound of his name, and the light fades out, dying completely.

It’s magnetic, instinctive; face falling forward like being pulled by gravity, and he feels Jensen inhale, chest swelling. The elevator hitches, and his mouth connects with Jensen’s, lips meeting fast and hard, teeth pushing behind, every single thought driven out by Jensen shoved against him. Jared can feel Jensen’s whole body tense, arms flexing around Jared—

The elevator jerks to life, throwing their faces apart as the power comes back on, flooding the elevator with harsh light that leaves Jared blinking. Jensen’s in motion then, pushing up and helping Jared to his feet. They stand there for a moment, Jensen still holding on to Jared’s arm, closer than they’ve been without being thrown together since the night Jensen set down rules, Jensen just looking at Jared for a long second. He looks like he’s going to say something, confusion muddying his expression before Jared sees that sense of distant remembering push through like a storm cloud that eclipses everything. Then Jensen’s face smoothes out and he steps back, pulling away.

“You all right?” Jensen’s voice is gruff as he smoothes out the arms of his suit jacket.

Jared remembers to breathe then, heartbeat thudding distantly in his ears. He manages to nod, nerves still on edge, thrumming inside him. He opens his mouth with no idea of what’s going to come out, just knows he has to say _something_ \--when the elevator stops, doors sliding open smoothly. Oliver and Colin are right there waiting for them with twin frowns that smooth into relief, and then Jensen steps out of the elevator, leaving the moment behind.

When Jared finally gets to his room, he falls into bed and lays there, sleepless, replaying the scene over and over again in his head. That wasn’t normal bodyguard behavior, Jared’s sure of it; Jensen didn’t have to catch him, stop him from stumbling. It could have been simple politeness, or maybe instinct, or maybe… maybe he was actually concerned? The way Jensen had looked at him… he couldn’t have imagined it, and he’s almost sure Jensen was pulling him closer at the end there… although he could have been tensing to push Jared away.

Dammit. Jared can’t get the way Jensen had felt out of his head, how lean, solid and strong and _good_ pressed against him. It’s far too easy to imagine taking the next step, the way his cock would harden in his pants, rubbing against Jensen’s through their clothes, mouths locked together, Jensen’s hands grabbing his ass, grinding tight, body arching off the floor to meet Jared’s thrusts.

_God._

Jared bites down against his lower lip, hand sliding underneath the covers, under the waistband of his pajama pants, fingers closing around his cock and stroking the curve. He swallows a hiss of pleasure at his own touch, feels his belly go molten hot, balls tightening, whole body rushing to the verge. He’s been turned on for hours, remembering and imagining, skin stretched so tight he feels like he’s going to burst right out of it. Jensen’s face haunts him, those green eyes and that flash of something dark and dangerous in them that was nothing like anger, imagines those hands closing into fists on him, rough drag and glide of their cocks together, Jensen’s teeth buried in the softness of Jared’s lower lip as he comes.

Jared spills hot and slick all over his stomach at the thought, hips pushing into his hand, sliding and hitching without rhythm as he bites back a cry.

 

Once Jared’s settled in the hotel room, Jensen posts two guards in the hall outside the door and heads to bed himself.

He’s not sure what happened in the elevator tonight—it had all been so fast, one moment catching Jared, the next breaking Jared’s fall, and then…

The way their mouths had met. It could have been an accident… but the way Jared was looking at him, with so much intent just before the lights went out, the sound of Jensen’s name on Jared’s tongue still hanging between them...

It doesn’t matter what it was; if the kiss was an accident or not, or what Jensen might or might not have thought about doing with Jared crushed against him like that. It was a fluke; a strange set of circumstances that aren’t likely to occur again. It’s not necessary for him to break it all down to prepare for another encounter like that.

He pushes the memory from his mind and gets ready for bed, body sliding between the sheets minutes later. 

 

The next morning as they leave the hotel, Jared stays unusually close to Jensen, seemingly conscious of Jensen’s presence no matter who he’s talking to. Jensen glances over at Jared every now and then, curious about the change in his behavior, and once, he catches Jared looking back at him, eyes meeting before they both glance away like they hadn’t seen each other at all.

Everything goes smoothly until they get outside the hotel. There’s a large knot of people clustered around the entrance, some of them waving pieces of paper that turn out to have pictures of Jared on them. There’s no security on hand except what Jared’s got with him, and the three of them don’t have a prayer of driving the crowd back.

“We need to get you out of here,” Jensen tells him, leaning close to speak to him, eyes moving to take in their surroundings.

“Just some fans,” Jared shrugs, dismissive. “I’ll take a few minutes; sign some autographs, no big deal.”

“I can’t state vehemently enough how bad an idea this is,” Jensen whispers back, anger edging into his voice. He can’t protect Jared very well, exposed like this, and they’re practically being mobbed. “If the crowd decided to turn angry--”

“They won’t. Don’t be so uptight,” Jared tells him, and he’s _smiling_ , for fuck’s sake, already moving to say hi to the first girl in front of him.

Jensen grabs him by the forearm, and Jared stops, looking down at Jensen’s hand and then up at Jensen’s face. 

“They’re my fans. I’m not gonna disappoint them,” Jared hisses, yanking his arm from Jensen’s grip.

The sun shines down, bright and hot on the back of Jensen’s neck as he waits, every muscle tense, eyes moving as efficiently as they can to observe the crowd. It’s getting larger, and Jared’s probably used to attending these kinds of events, probably isn’t even aware of how they’re usually complete with a lot more security and ropes separating the crowd from the stars.

A flurry of movement at the edge of his left eye catches his attention, head swiveling smoothly to track it.

The crowd is thinner on that side, most of them gathered in front of Jared, and there’s someone—a tall man with brown hair—running through the sparse group of people straight towards them. Jared’s still signing an autograph, smiling bright and wide at a petite, dark-haired girl, and the man is headed on a collision course with him. Jensen has fractions of a second to take all this in, and even less time to act.

Jensen steps around and between them, grabbing the man by his wrist as he breaks through the crowd. The blink of an eye and Jensen’s got the man’s hand yanked up between his shoulder blades, other arm folded around the man’s throat, one foot hooked around the front of the man’s left calf, ready to throw him facedown if he resists.

“My arm,” the man groans, barely wheezing out the words.

“Stop squirming or I’ll break it,” Jensen warns, tugging on the man’s arm a bit harder. 

Every person near the front of the crowd has gone very quiet and still, watching with wide eyes, and two full seconds pass, the man stilling in his grip. 

“I… think you already did… break it.”

Jared’s just standing there, staring at Jensen and the stranger like he’s mystified as to how this happened.

“What the hell were you doing?” Jensen demands.

“Just… wanted to touch him,” the man coughs.

“Bad idea,” Jensen growls.

Jensen watches as the surprise in Jared’s face slowly fills with confusion and then floods with rage, eyes locked on Jensen. “What the fucking fuck is _wrong_ with you?” Jared snarls. “Let him go.”

Jensen eyes Jared coolly, and then lifts his chin in Oliver’s direction.

“Check him.”

Jensen holds the man while Oliver pats him down, Jared growing more furious by the second. “You are un-fucking-believable! He’s just a _fan_.”

Jensen doesn’t move or acknowledge him until Oliver finally declares the man clean. Then, Jensen turns with the man still in his grasp and pushes him away, towards the crowd.

“Wait your turn,” Jensen tells him. 

Before the man can say or do anything else, Jensen spins on Jared and closes a hand around his elbow, half pushing, half-dragging Jared away. “We are leaving _now_ , if I have to manhandle you into the limo myself.”

Luckily, Jared seems too shocked and appalled to put up a fight, and lets Jensen guide him through the edge of the crowd to the limo waiting beyond. The shocked silence lasts all of a minute once they’re inside with the doors locked, and then Jared _explodes_.

Jensen locks his jaw into place and settles in for a long ride to the airport. He listens silently, bearing the full brunt of Jared’s rage, and thinks it’s just as well.

They were overdue for another fight.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

Jared’s self-entitled tirade lasts for _days_ , off and on, taking breaks for Jared to occasionally do other things—like eat, sleep, or act, or try to piss Jensen off by leaving the house as often as possible for no good reason. He listens to Jared explain for the millionth time that what the guy did is completely normal fan behavior, and Mike joins in on the chorus as the story makes the news. 

By the time the storm is over, Jensen’s just as convinced as ever of his original opinion that taking a Hollywood job was a bad idea, and certain that Jared is one of the worst possible clients he could have chosen to take on.

Whatever had happened on the elevator that night, whatever might have been changing with Jared -- it’s over and done with now. 

 

 

They’re walking off the busy LA sidewalk between a pair of intricately painted glass doors that lead to one of the city’s most upscale restaurants.

“Look.” Jared’s body language is stiff, angling away from Jensen as he does up the buttons on the front of his suit jacket. “This is a lunch date.”

“I noticed.” Jensen glances around the elegant entry room, ignoring the way Jared’s looking at him.

“In an elite restaurant, by reservation only, for a very important meeting about my career,” Jared explains, like Jensen might be slow. “The last thing I need is you hovering and distracting Eli.”

Jensen watches a young man reaching into his inner jacket pocket as he moves closer to them. He looks distracted, talking to his companions, but it’s not until he bumps shoulders with Jensen that the guy meets his eyes and Jensen is satisfied. 

“I’ll stay out of the way,” he tells Jared.

“You can’t just lurk in the corner in here,” Jared whispers heatedly.

“I’ll find a plant to hide behind,” Jensen promises.

“You are impossible,” Jared hisses. “Just wait outside.”

Jensen squashes the urge to raise his voice and takes a deep breath before he speaks. “No.”

Jared shoots a glance at Jensen that’s full of enough venom to kill him where he stands.

Jensen ignores it and listens to Jared find his manners for the host.

 

 

They’re on the way back to Jared’s house after an awards dinner, Jared with a golden trophy sitting on the seat beside him. Jared’s looking out the window at the city streets, no trace left of the elation he’d shown onstage while accepting the award.

Jared looks tired, Jensen thinks, and he should be, after all the time he’s spent shooting and attending events the last couple of weeks. It’s been a nightmare for Jensen, and he can’t say he’s sorry to see Jared feeling it just a little. 

It’s just the two of them in the backseat, Jensen sitting against the other window, rain beginning to patter on the roof of the limo, water streaking the windows.

When Jared finally looks over at him, what comes out of his mouth is the last thing Jensen expects to hear.

“So what if I want to go on a date?” Streetlights tick by outside the window behind him, rain catching and refracting them like diamonds.

Jensen’s mind automatically starts backtracking, searching for reasons for the question—but he can’t remember Jared particularly hitting on anyone, though he’d flirted with his usual aplomb at the after party. Jared being that close to strangers had set him on edge, but it hadn’t evolved into anything more. Maybe that’s why Jared is asking. Maybe Jared had wanted it to.

This isn’t a conversation Jensen wants to have, and he’d rather avoid the circumstance all together—it’s problematic at best, and he already knows Jared’s going to hate the answer. But then, there isn’t much Jared doesn’t hate that comes out of Jensen’s mouth.

“It would best if you didn’t.” Jensen holds Jared’s gaze as he answers. “It’s an unnecessary complication.”

Jared’s eyes narrow slightly. “And if I did it anyway?”

“If you insisted,” Jensen says, holding back a sigh. “I’d have to go with you.”

Jared’s eyes tighten on Jensen as he asks, “And if I brought them home?”

“Not an option,” Jensen answers immediately. This one is simple, at least. “I can’t leave you alone with _anyone_ you don’t already know.” 

Jared snorts, shaking his head as he looks away, back out the window. “Of course not.” He’s silent for so long that Jensen starts to think maybe he’s done with whatever this is—and then he goes on.

“And if I do know them, then what?” Jared turns to look at Jensen again, and Jensen feels vaguely uncomfortable at the intensity of his gaze. “Are you going to watch?”

Jensen can feel his mouth tugging into a hard smirk. Jared’s _trying_ to piss him off; it couldn’t be more obvious. Although why Jared thinks something like this would work, he isn’t sure. The fact that it _is_ working, just the tiniest bit, is something he chooses to ignore.

“Not my thing,” he replies, wry amusement worked into the tone.

But Jared isn’t satisfied, yet. “So? What, then?”

It’s not as if Jensen’s never had to deal with something like this before. He’s been a bodyguard for political figures, and if there’s anyone who has more guests streaming through their bedroom, Jensen hasn’t encountered the like yet. It’s not as big of a deal as Jared might think—then again, they were all heterosexual men who weren’t in much danger from a 5’2 hooker weighing in at ninety pounds soaking wet. Those encounters usually consisted of Jensen patting down the women before they went into the room, and allowing it on a single condition. Jared, on the other hand, likes men.

He wishes he hadn’t taken this case. He’d absolutely forbid it on principle, if he could; Jared left alone with any man close to his size would fall into the category of Jensen failing at his job—but he can’t forbid it. Jared’s still a free-willed human being.

“You agree not to let yourself be tied up and left helpless,” he finally answers. “And I stand guard outside the door.”

Jared shifts in his seat, looking interested. “And listen in?”

Jensen can’t think of anything he’d like to hear less than Jared fucking or getting fucked by someone else. It’s disgust, pure and simple; disgust for Jared’s attitude, his decadent lifestyle. And that’s exactly as far as he’s pursuing the thought.

“Not if you’re quiet,” Jensen replies with a wry smile, hoping to shut Jared up.

No such luck. If anything, Jared’s face lights up.

“I’m _not_ quiet,” Jared assures him, leaning forward. “ _Very_ not quiet,” he goes on, with something like dark glee. “And even if I were?” he says, smirking. “I wouldn’t be. Just to make you suffer,” he adds in an amiable tone so sarcastic that it burns.

Jensen just looks at him for a moment, and then nods.

“Noted,” he replies, turning away from the glint in Jared’s eyes.

 

It’s just after 6 a.m. and Jared is cranky. Peter wants to do the boiler room shoot again, something about the scene not flowing well enough overall, and Jared feels like he’d rather do anything else than do this _again_ with Jason.

He’s in costume, if you can call it that, and full make-up, and even though he’s just getting here, the heat rolling off the pipes is already making him sweat. 

“Are you done _yet_?” Jared complains as he watches Jensen check the room. “Bad enough I’ve gotta do this fucking scene again,” he mutters. 

Jensen ignores him, moving through the tangle of pipes and checking every single tight space between. Jensen has taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, but Jared can see that he’s starting to sweat through it, sweat literally dripping off the end of his nose as he works. Jared forgets about being annoyed, watching Jensen’s body move, wet shirt clinging in spots to his biceps, his chest, muscles of his bare forearms glistening. He watches Jensen wipe at his forehead, moving on to check another area, and then Jensen just stops.

Jensen’s fingers work at the knot on his tie, sliding it loose and then down, and then pulls it through the collar around one side, tossing it over on one of the set chairs. His fingers work the buttons on his dress shirt smoothly, quick, efficient slide and pop until he pulls the bottom from his pants and undoes the last two. The white shirt hangs open in the front, baring his throat and upper chest above his white undershirt, and Jared’s left breathless for a moment by the sight of skin, the musculature of his chest beneath the undershirt clinging like second skin and outlining every detail. Jensen slides one arm from the sleeve of his dress shirt, and then the other, shirt tossed, drifting through the air before it lands on the same chair.

He’s standing there in the equivalent of a tank top, covered in softly glistening sweat, dark smudge across his forehead from where he touched the pipes and then touched himself. Sweat rolls down his throat, catching fiery orange light as it hangs in the v line where his collar bone meets before running slowly down skin to where the line between his pecs begins, teasing as it disappears down the valley. His pecs stand out, outlined by the wet undershirt, clinging against the tight six-pack of his abs, the place where his waist narrows, leaving nothing but skin to the imagination. He’s in _perfect_ fucking shape, so perfect he looks like he could have been carved out of marble. Jared watches his biceps ripple and bulge as he continues inspecting the room, the interplay of his muscles beneath the skin, and Jesus fuck, he can barely _stand_ it.

He suddenly wants, more than anything, to puts his hands on that skin—God, _all over it_ \--feel the skin, muscle and bone beneath, lick away the sweat dripping down his chest. He’s riveted to the spot, eyes fixed on that gorgeous body, and he can feel himself getting hard, imagining Jensen’s round, perfect ass bare and wet with sweat, perfect cut of it outlined in golden-orange light. The hard length of his cock, tip glistening with something that isn’t sweat, like an offering for Jared to taste—

He sucks in a sudden breath, not realizing he hadn’t been breathing until then, and Jensen is nodding to Peter, telling him they’re good to go.

Jared still can’t move, watching until Jensen glides back into his shirt, settles the tie around his neck and puts himself back the way he was before. Watching still as Jensen walks towards the chairs and stands straight, hands clasped together in front of him, and Peter finally yells for Jared to get to his mark.

Jesus fucking _Christ_.

 

Jensen’s still sweating, but not nearly as badly now that he’s standing back, away from the direct heat. He stands off to the side and listens, eyes roving the room by force of habit more than anything else while they shoot the scene. It’s a closed room, he already checked every single inch of it—they’re as safe as they’re going to get.

The last time he’d been here, it had been his first day on set and he hadn’t had much inclination to pay attention to the scenes so much as the surroundings.

Jared and Jason are facing off in the most open area of the boiler room, standing a few feet apart. 

“We were _brothers_ , Logan. Maybe you can turn your back on that, but you can’t turn your back on what we _are_. We’re _assassins_. It’s in our blood.”

The words pull Jensen into the scene, and he watches Jason advance on Jared, body language going predatory, long dark hair dripping with sweat. 

“And now you’re here to kill _me_?” Jared delivers the simple line with so many different emotions worked into it that Jensen’s momentarily impressed.

“Killing is what we do.”

The words resonate, echoing in Jensen’s mind, and suddenly it seems all too intimate, watching this exchange. 

“You could have killed me without me ever seeing you.” 

“Yeah. But it’s more fun if I do this face to face. Come on Logan... All those years… working together… you’ve _got_ to have wondered… between me and you… which one of us would win?”

“Me.” Jared pulls out his guns, aiming them at Jason, and Jason moves, diving behind a boiler, pop-flash of blanks erupting from the ends of Jared’s guns following behind. Peter calls cut and Jared and Jason take their positions to start all over again when Jensen’s ear radio crackles. 

Jensen leaves the heat of the room behind to answer the call, those words still hanging at the back of his mind.

_Killing is what we do._

 

The boiler room scene extends into a second day, and Jared’s no happier with Jensen; he’s even more reluctant to cooperate. Jared seems to take pleasure in holding them up whenever possible. Everywhere they go on set, people shoot tense, worried looks at Jared, darting glances at Jensen to see how he’s taking Jared’s needling comments.

Jensen ignores Jared _and_ the looks people are shooting them, and does his job. 

The heat of the boiler room hits Jensen with almost palpable force as he enters and he doesn’t bother trying to maintain appearances this time, stripping off his suit jacket and button down shirt before he even begins.

He’s endured conditions like this enough times during training that the heat doesn’t distract him, and he keeps hold of his patience even when his fingers brush against one of the pipes directly, singeing him. 

Jared arrives from make-up with Oliver when Jensen’s nearly done. He stands towards the back, behind the row of cast and crew chairs, and Jensen can feel Jared watching him, probably angrier than ever that Jensen’s holding him up yet again, disproportionate sense of entitlement blinding him to how important this is. 

When he’s finished, Jensen’s sweating bullets; undershirt soaked through as he nods to Peter and takes a towel from one of the chairs.

Jared gives him an odd glance as he passes, not quite meeting Jensen’s eyes.

When shooting breaks for lunch, Jared falls into the first chair he finds outside the room and runs a hand through his soaked hair, breathing in deep.

“You wanna back off and let me breathe?” Jared snaps in Jensen’s direction, and Jensen sets his jaw, holds back what he wants to say and stays right where he is.

It’s a long day, and everyone’s tempers are coming up short by the end of it. By the time it’s over, Jensen has considered the benefits of gagging Jared on several occasions.

 

After they wrap and Jared goes through wardrobe and make-up removal, Jared decides he’s going out for the evening. The shoot was a bitch, but they finally wrapped the scene for good, and he’s been so busy working for days that he could use the break. Jensen, predictably, gets angry and tries to talk him into staying home, which results in a huge argument that ends with Jared slamming the bedroom door in Jensen’s face.

Jensen walks through it two seconds later and Jared sighs through his teeth, peeling off his t-shirt and throwing it on the bed. He tries slamming the bathroom door in Jensen’s face too, but Jensen’s too quick, blocking the door with the flat of his hand. He grabs the edge, shoves the door open and glares at Jared as he steps into the room.

“You know I need to check it first.”

Jared leans against the counter, folding his arms across his chest. “You gonna stand outside the curtain while I shower, too?” he demands. “You wanna join me, maybe? You could probably use a shower.”

Jensen just shakes his head as if to himself, and proceeds to check the room. 

“Or maybe you could just shove your head up my _ass_ ,” Jared spits. “Would that be close enough to make sure I’m okay?”

Jensen continues to ignore him, anger in Jared rising, boiling his blood. “Fine,” he hisses. Fuck this. If Jensen’s going to be in his space constantly, let him be there. Jared’s tired of his life being so fucking upset by him, anyway.

He pushes away from the counter, fingers falling to the button of his jeans and popping it, yanking the zipper down just behind. He gets his thumbs inside the waistline, and wriggles them down off his hips until they slide, stepping out of them. He’s got his thumbs in his briefs, about to yank them off too, when Jensen finally rises and turns towards him.

Jensen doesn’t blink, but he does look at Jared for a moment, like he’s taking in this odd turn of events, eyes traveling down and then up the length of Jared’s body once. 

“Enjoying the view?” Jared asks, voice hard and sarcastic. “Might as well, since you’re here.” He pulls his briefs down and steps out of them, too.

Jensen just stares into Jared’s eyes for a moment, expression as unreadable as ever. 

“You’re clear,” Jensen tells him, and then he moves past Jared without looking at him again. The door closes behind him with a soft click.

Jared nearly hurts his hand with the force he uses to turn the faucet on. He’s absolutely furious, hands shaking as he twists the knob, adjusting the temperature.

Angry as he is, he still can’t shake the memory of Jensen in the elevator in New York, that look in his eyes… the way he’d moved on set this morning, bare-armed and sweating, skin glowing soft orange-yellow. The images tease at him as he steps into the shower spray, and he grits his teeth together, solidly refuses to let his hand creep down between his legs, let his body take the course of action it wants to.

He’ll take care of that later, preferably with another warm body, and not a trace of Jensen running through his mind.

 

Jared gets dressed for the club, tight jeans and a short-sleeved button down, beaten silver bracelet on his wrist. Jensen rides in the back of the car with him, Chad driving in the front, and Jared manages to make it through the whole trip without saying a single word to Jensen, which seems to suit Jensen fine.

It’s a private club that belongs to Johnny, and Jared visits it whenever he wants to blow off some steam without worrying about the paparazzi snapping pictures of him. It’s got tons of security of its own, though that doesn’t seem to satisfy Jensen, who continues to breathe down his neck wherever he goes.

He ignores it the best he can and pushes through the crowd—all of Hollywood’s finest and most private and their discreet groupies in tow—and weaves his way to the bar. There’s a cute guy sitting there, bright blue eyes and light-brown hair falling into his eyes, and he’s looking right at Jared.

The guy’s name is Liam, and he’s sweet, hanging on Jared’s every word while Jared flirts with him, working his way through a couple of drinks. Jensen stands nearby, and Jared ignores him completely until Jensen taps his shoulder to get his attention.

“I need to check with security and find out why they haven’t wired me into their communications, yet.”

Jared just looks at him. “And?”

“Stay put while I’m gone,” Jensen admonishes before he turns and pushes through the crowd. 

And well, Jared couldn’t have asked for a better cue. “Meet me in the bathroom,” Jared whispers in Liam’s ear, lips brushing the edge of Liam’s earlobe, and he can feel Liam shiver.

It takes him a minute or two to get to the bathroom door, and he’s closing his hand around the handle when someone grabs his shoulder and turns him around.

“I told you to _stay put_ ,” Jensen hisses.

“I’m not allowed to take a piss, now?” Jared demands.

“Not unless--”

“Mr. Ackles.” A bald security guard in a suit taps Jensen on the shoulder. “Mr. Johnson would like to speak with you for a moment before we link you in.”

Jensen narrows his eyes at Jared and taps his chest. “You. Stay,” Jensen says like he might be talking to a particularly dangerous three-year-old, “where I can see you. Got it?”

Jared waits until Jensen’s talking to Johnny at a safe distance, and then he works his way back to find Liam. 

“Hey, change of plans,” he whispers, taking Liam’s hand and guiding him through the crowd, out the door to the back alley.

 

Jensen finishes talking to Mr. Johnson and looks back over to where he left Jared.

Gone. 

_God_. DAMMIT.

 

Liam’s mouth is soft, wet and eager, parting with a moan for Jared, arms twining around Jared’s shoulders. Jared gets all of sixty seconds—long enough to shove Liam against the wall, kissing him hard, deep and wet, hips grinding together, Liam moaning into his mouth—before the door slams open.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, flinging him away from Liam.

“Dude,” Liam pleads, blue eyes wide as he looks at Jensen. “He never said he was taken.”

“Leave,” Jensen hisses at him.

The door to the club bangs shut as Jensen spins on Jared. “I need to know where you are at _all times_. Do you even _realize_ how vulnerable you just made yourself to--”

“Getting _laid_?” Jared interrupts.

"You," Jensen says, twisting his fists into the material of Jared's priceless designer shirt, "are such a pain in my _ass_."

"Wow. Jensen. Are you having an emotion?" Jared asks, voice dripping sarcasm. He’s too pleased with himself for pissing Jensen off to be angry.

Jensen shoves him against the wall-- _hard_ \--shoulders slamming, teeth rattling.

"In acting, we call this 'method'," Jared grins. Jensen's so close Jared can feel him breathing against his mouth.

Jensen's upper lip curls above his teeth, soft pink over harsh white. "You are such an asshole."

"And you're not?"

"I _know_ I am." Jensen's eyes are angry, intense, but there’s something fragile in the set of them—something Jared’s come to associate with Jensen’s past.

Jared doesn't know, doesn't understand, how someone just a few years older than him could have so many years worn into the lines of their face, burned into the depths of their eyes. Whatever Jensen's done, whatever he's seen, it's branded into him. Into every line, curve, grain of skin.

It doesn’t change Jared’s opinion one bit. "You're damaged goods.”

"You think anybody willing to sacrifice their life for someone else's _isn't_?" Jensen asks, leaning closer, one brow arching to accentuate the question.

“I think… you’re fucking crazy,” Jared says succinctly, pushing right into Jensen’s face.

Jensen’s jaw clenches, eyes thinning to slits, hands tightening on Jared’s jacket—and then he shoves away, letting go. 

“I don’t expect someone like _you_ to understand.” Jensen spits the words, like Jared’s something beneath his notice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jared asks, feeling the familiar, thin burn of anger simmering under his skin again.

Jensen’s eyes tighten on his, corners crinkling, something like…dark amusement dancing in the glint of light that catches against the green. “What’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to deal with, Jared? Broken fingernail? Some bruises? Bad review? Tell me your sob story, come on.”

The implications of that get so far under Jared’s skin that he thinks he might need surgery to pull them out. “You,” Jared says, taking a step closer to Jensen, blood rising so hot and hard it almost blots out his vision. “Don’t know. _Anything_. About me.”

“That,” Jensen says, looking at him like he might be slow, “would be why I asked.”

Jared can feel his fingers tighten into fists, nails cutting into the skin of his palms. 

“Come on , Jared,” Jensen says, grinning, egging Jared on with his eyes—practically _inviting_ Jared to take a shot at him. “Don’t you have any tragic stories you want to share with me, just so you can prove me wrong? Tanning bed trauma? The time your parents didn’t ask ‘how high’ when you said jump? The time the bartender forgot to put an umbrella in your drink?”

Jared is shaking, trembling with anger, his whole body a warning for Jensen to shut up-- _now_.

Jensen looks Jared up and down once; glance thoughtful as his mouth pulls to one side. He pushes his face closer to Jared’s, eyes narrowing with a smug smile. “Waiting for you to shut me up _any_ time now.”

Jared’s fist lashes out without a thought and hits—nothing, weight behind the punch carrying him forward so far that he practically falls against Jensen’s chest, Jensen’s hands grabbing his shoulders.

“That’s called telegraphing a punch,” Jensen says, still smirking as he shoves Jared away. “And it doesn’t answer my question.”

Jared’s shoulders hit the brick wall outside the club and he pushes away from it instantly.

“Who the fuck do you think you _are_?” Jared yells, closing the distance between them again.

Jensen takes a step backward—not like he’s scared; more like he’s just ignoring Jared’s rage. “I’m your bodyguard.” 

Jensen’s not challenging him anymore, just looking down at his suit and smoothing it into place. His calm burns under Jared’s skin; cold fire, dark and angry. 

“Fuck this,” Jared breathes, gritting his teeth as he takes a step back, shoulders settling into a straight line, fingers flexing. 

He grabs the handle of the back door to the club, knuckles cracking around the grip, and throws it open so hard that the metal clangs off brick.

 

Jared is silent, sitting in the front seat with Chad, tight-lipped and stormy-eyed and clearly furious during the car ride back. 

Jensen is still trying to understand why he got so angry. Yes, he was doing his job, and Jared was trying to get away from him, but he’s never lost his temper with a client—not even when they didn’t cooperate. Of course, most of his clients capitulated afterward. Jared never has, and watching Jared throw himself at that _kid_ \--

Why the fuck should he care? It’s not like the guy was any threat to Jared. Way too small to present any danger. 

Jared throws open the car door the second it stops, not even bothering to shut it. Jensen’s out the other side just as quickly, moving to follow Jared when Chad steps in front of him.

“You,” Chad says succinctly, lighting up a smoke, “are a fucking _prick_.”

Jensen’s regretful for a moment that he had left his channel with Chad open when everything happened. “Noted.” He’s well aware of that. He narrows his eyes on Chad, that angular face half-lit by the orange glow of his cigarette. “I still have a job to do.”

“Yeah?” Chad’s brows rise with disdainful mock-curiosity. “Your job include being a _bastard_?”

“Maybe he needs someone to be a bastard to him for once,” Jensen fires back.

“You think he hasn’t had it tough? Man, have you ever been part of Hollywood? People always prying into your life? Watching you everywhere you go, having to be so fucking careful, deal with the shit that shows up in the tabs?”

“He made the choice to put himself there.”

“You think? You really don’t know anything about him, do you? Jesus. You ever bother to fucking _talk_ to the guy?”

“I’m here to protect him, not be his friend.”

“If you’re gonna insult him about how not-tough his life has been, maybe you oughta bother finding out some details about him first.”

“I know his type; spoiled princess who had everything handed to him. I don’t need to know anything else.”

Chad’s face is still and stony, eyes hard flecks that spark cold orange. “If I didn’t know you were a ninja, I’d beat the fucking shit out of you right now. You don’t know shit, Jensen.”

“I know how to do my job,” Jensen replies. It’s an automatic response, one honed to a fine point over the years, and it leaves him with an ease that belies the doubt in his gut.

He walks around Chad and follows Jared into the house.

 

Jensen trails behind Jared, and he can tell by Jared’s path that he’s headed for the gym. Jared’s footfalls are loud, even against the deep carpet that lines the hallway, and everything in his posture screams anger; tight shoulders, stiff spine, straight-legged, long strides. 

The fact that he might not be in the best frame of mind to deal with the situation right now occurs to him, and he briefly considers calling Oliver down to take his place. But this is his job, and if he lets Jared win this round by walking away, it will severely affect Jared’s cooperation with him in the future.

_Is that really all it is, Jensen?_

He tongues at the inside of his jaw and debates that. If he can’t answer the question—if there’s a question at _all_ he should take a break. He lifts his hand, finger pressing against the inner curve of his ear, about to call for Oliver.

In front of him, Jared turns his head, profile softly lit by the hall lamps as he snarls, “Fuck off,” back at Jensen.

And quite suddenly, Jensen has no intention of doing anything of the sort. 

 

Jared throws open the door to the gym and stalks in, heading straight for the area off to the side where he keeps spare work-out clothes. He can hear Jensen coming up behind him, and purposefully begins stripping out of his clothes. He’s sure Jensen turned his back, isn’t watching him, but once he’s got a pair of loose sport shorts tugged on and turns around, Jensen’s standing right there, facing Jared, arms folded across his chest. He’s not looking at Jared, eyes fixed on a spot over Jared’s shoulder, and Jared pushes past him.

Jared goes straight to the punching bag, doesn’t bother to stop to wrap his knuckles first. He hits it _hard_ , feeling satisfaction course through him with the impact. His whole body feels like it’s thrumming; millions of live wires dancing on edge. He hits the bag again with his left hand, cutting it a ferocious slice and it rattles like it’s trying to fly apart.

Jensen’s standing off to one side, and Jared has no fucking idea why he’s so _close_ , wants to punch Jensen’s face instead of the bag.

“It’s not like I even fucking need you around. I can handle myself,” Jared spits as he hits the punching bag again.

Jensen takes a step back, looking Jared over, and Jared stops hitting the bag, turns the totality of his attention and anger on Jensen. Jensen folds his arms behind his back and starts to pace a slow circle around Jared. He nods, like he’s agreeing with Jared after a moment, and then he says, “You’re an action movie star, after all. Surely you know how to defend yourself. You must know how to throw a punch, how to use your weight, block and dodge, right?”

“Hell _yes_ I do,” Jared hisses. “I’ve had to learn all that _and_ wrestling, Akido, jujitsu, karate, boxing—I took down my Judo instructor in our first session.”

Jensen just nods, and keeps walking a slow circle around Jared, soles of his shoes scuffling against the ground. It’s… making Jared a little nervous, the way Jensen’s circling him like a shark, but Jared knows he can handle himself if Jensen decides to try anything.

“There’s a difference between knowing how to do something, and actually having to use it to defend yourself.”

“I know the differen—”

Jared doesn’t even _see_ Jensen move—all he knows is that his back hits the ground _hard_ , something heavy falling on top of him, and he can’t _move_ , can’t even breathe. Jensen’s got one hand wrapped around Jared’s throat, other wrapped around Jared’s wrists, Jensen’s weight pressing into him, eyes staring down into Jared, steady and fierce. Jensen cocks his head to the side and says, “So... show me.”

Jared bucks his body up from the ground, trying to push up with his legs for leverage, body ready to twist out from under Jensen’s—and Jensen gets one foot hooked under Jared’s leg in the blink of an eye, sweeping it out from under him and shoving him back down, thumb pressing into a nerve in Jared’s wrist with a pain so sharp Jared would hiss if he could breathe. 

“Come on, _Jared_.” Jensen whispers out Jared’s name like a mockery. “You’re suffocating. Do something.”

Jensen’s got his leg curled around Jared’s knee, now, and Jared twists his wrists, yanking free of Jensen’s hold. Jensen’s hand closes like iron, fast as lightening around one of Jared’s wrists and Jared brings his free arm inside Jensen’s grip on his throat and bends it, slamming his elbow into Jensen’s arm to break the hold. He rolls all his weight behind the blow, ready to follow through and spin Jensen over onto his back as he gasps in a quick breath—but Jensen moves quicker, shifting his weight and yanking Jared’s arm painfully hard to reverse the momentum. His other hand is back on Jared’s throat in an instant, thumbs closing off his windpipe as they dig in even harder than before. 

“I could have snapped your neck twenty times by now,” Jensen informs him, face a bare inch from Jared’s, weight pressing behind the hand on Jared’s throat. “Crushed your trachea. Broken your arm in three places.”

Jared pulls his hand free, rage lending him strength, hand balling into a fist aimed at Jensen’s smirking jaw. Jensen moves, pulling his head back, hand closing around Jared’s wrist again and slamming his arm against the ground.

“You’re strong,” Jensen tells him, like it’s some kind of intimate secret. “But strength’s no good unless you know how to use it.”

He lets go of Jared and pulls away, getting quickly to his feet and backing up a few steps. 

Jared is _beyond furious_. He starts to sit up, throat burning, blood boiling, and Jensen extends a hand to help him from the ground.

Jared grabs it and _pulls_ \--

Jensen grabs Jared’s wrist and twists out of Jared’s grip as he kicks Jared square in the chest, so hard the air explodes from his lungs, pain blooming through him as his back hits the ground again. He ignores it; arches his back and throws his body up and forward, leaping to his feet in one smooth motion and falling into a fighting stance. He doesn’t hesitate, lashes out with a fist, strike aimed for Jensen’s cheek.

Jensen blocks the blow with one arm, grabs Jared’s wrist again with his other and throws Jared’s hand back at him. “You’ve got some moves,” Jensen says, blocking a kick Jared aims at his knee. “You’re strong and you’re fast for someone your size,” Jensen goes on, bending and blocking a combination kick-punch with both arms before his hands lock around Jared’s wrist and ankle and he throws Jared back on his ass.

“You need to tighten up though, and stop telegraphing every move.”

Jared’s sitting on the ground, wondering how the fuck he ended up there. He’s _fuming_ , almost shaking he’s so angry, and Jensen’s just standing there, smirking like he’s enjoying the hell out of this.

Jared lunges from the floor, charging at Jensen.

Jensen dodges, grabs Jared and spins him around, letting Jared’s momentum carry him into the wall. Jared starts to push off and Jensen’s right there, body shoved up against Jared’s, pressed chest to thigh, forearm cutting into Jared’s throat.

“This is why you hired me. If you could take me, I wouldn’t need to be here. Do you understand?”

Jared’s eyes thin to hateful slits, and then he lets all the fight go out of him as he nods.

“So we’re done here?”

Jared nods again, and Jensen lets go of him, backing up a step. Jared takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill, watching as Jensen smoothes the lapels of his suit back down.

“Good,” Jensen says as he works his hands under the collar of his shirt, about to twist his tie back into place.

Jared hits him.

It’s sweet, and satisfying, the feel of his knuckles against Jensen’s skin, colliding with bone. It’s not quite as satisfying as it could be, because Jensen dodges at the last second, and Jared only grazes him, but it’s _so_ fucking worth it.

He gets all of about two seconds of pure satisfaction from the moment, already moving to follow through with a kick—and then he’s on the ground again, Jensen’s weight on top of him, those green eyes murderous as he pins both of Jared’s arms.

Jared doesn’t even care, so full of victory and the look in Jensen’s eyes that he can’t help but laugh out loud.

“You think this is some kind of game?” Jensen is livid, and that just makes Jared laugh even harder. Jensen’s eyes practically flash sparks, mouth so close to Jared’s that Jared can feel his breath. “You. Need to be taught a lesson.”

“I think,” Jared breathes back, body arching under Jensen’s. “I’d like to see you _try_ ,” he whispers in rush, hatred coursing through him. 

“You are such an impudent, arrogant little _brat_.” Jensen’s hands squeeze Jared even tighter, his eyes burning into Jared.

Jared can’t quite hold back a grunt against the sudden flash of pain in his wrists. He shoves his head up off the mat, mouth clashing against Jensen’s accidentally, hard and messy, sloppy angle. “Smart-assed, arrogant _asshole_ ,” he hisses. 

Jensen’s mouth slams into his with so much force that Jared’s teeth rattle, the back of Jared’s head hitting the mat so hard that he sees stars for a split second. Jensen lets go of Jared’s arms, grabbing two fistfuls of Jared’s hair instead and yanking Jared deeper, Jensen’s tongue pushing forcefully between Jared’s teeth, rough and demanding, his lean, firm body pressing Jared even deeper into the mat. Jensen’s twisting his hands, pulling Jared’s hair so hard that it _hurts_ , and Jared gasps into Jensen’s mouth, hips driving up from the ground.

He runs his hands down Jensen’s back, grabs the hem of Jensen’s suit jacket with one hand, yanking it up, other hand jerking Jensen’s tucked-in shirt free, both hands on Jensen’s bare skin before he can even think to draw a breath, nails raking hard, deep trails across the small of his back, grinding against him.

“Bitch,” Jensen bites off the word against Jared’s mouth as he shudders, hips slamming down against Jared.

It’s not so much kissing as it is fighting, Jensen’s tongue plunging deep and hard, Jared’s teeth closing around the warm slickness and biting down. Jensen hisses, breath forced down Jared’s throat, one hand yanking Jared’s head back even further, other closing around his chin and pulling until Jared’s mouth is opened wide for him. Jared’s lower lip caught between Jensen’s teeth, tugging on the edge of pain as he draws back and then plunges in, licking the inside of Jared’s mouth like it belongs to him.

Jared drags his fingernails up Jensen’s bare back, catching and digging deep.

Jensen pulls back, eyes wild and full of fire. “You think that hurts? You don’t even know what hurt _is_.”

Jared yanks his head, tugs against the pull of Jensen’s hand on his hair, strands firing out bright shards of pain as they break free. “Thought you were gonna _teach me_.”

“Want me to hurt you, Jared?” Jensen lets go of Jared’s chin, hand sliding down Jared’s body, nails scratching deep lines into Jared’s chest. He grabs the waistline of Jared’s gym shorts, ripping them down his hips, teeth tearing at Jared’s throat. Jared can feel the cool air hit his bare skin like a shock, the weave of Jensen’s suit pants rubbing against him, the hard, hot line of his cock grinding into Jared’s. It feels so good, so right and so wrong, and Jared grits his teeth against the feeling, turns his face and closes his teeth around Jensen’s ear. 

“Show me,” he whispers, vehement.

Jensen crushes his mouth against Jared’s, hands pulling away, all his weight behind the kiss as his hands move across his own body, reaching around and behind, knuckles brushing against Jared’s cock with the sound of a zipper ripped open, fingers working, dancing across the flush, hard skin. Jared thrusts into the sensation and Jensen grabs him by the hip with one hand, holds him down. The hand around his cock pulls away, and Jared can feel Jensen pull his wallet out of his pants pocket, flip it open and tug something out. Jensen rips the condom package open with his teeth and one hand, and reaches down, hand brushing Jared’s belly as he rolls it on. Jensen spits into his hand and slicks himself, and Jared feels the tease of those knuckles against him again.

Jared’s two seconds from begging for it, words locked in his throat—and Jensen shoves Jared’s legs up, head of his cock teasing at Jared’s rim. He pushes inside without ceremony, long and slow, sweet burn and sting, and Jared’s not ready for this—for the feeling of Jensen spreading him wide open, thrusting deep to the bottom—for the way it makes his heart twist and go sideways.

“Bastard,” Jared whispers, hands locking into claws around the muscles of Jensen’s ass.

“Prick,” Jensen breathes, mouth closing over Jared’s as he jerks his hips back and thrusts.

And oh, God, _yeah_ , just like _that_ , Jensen hitting Jared’s sweet spot on the way down, hammering into him with hard, steady thrusts.

It hurts—God _yes_ it hurts—and it feels _perfect_ , pain and pleasure warring, both sharing the sublime sensation of Jensen fucking him so gloriously hard and deep. Jared wraps his legs around Jensen, calves resting over his own hands, pushing up into every thrust, tongues tangled, their bodies beginning to sweat.

“Hate you,” Jared gasps, hips arching against the angle of Jensen’s cock. Mouth sliding, slick and hot across Jensen’s. “God… I… hate you so much.” Hands gripping each other, nails tearing, rending, bodies slamming together violently hard. 

“You…” Jensen whispers, breath searing Jared’s mouth. “Drive me fucking _insane_.” Jensen grabs Jared by the hair again, yanking Jared’s head back as he slams home again. “I don’t…” quick drag of hips, cock sliding out and filling him exquisitely deep, “want to hurt you…” hot mouth, confessing the words against Jared’s lips. “I want…” Jensen breathes, tearing in and out of Jared so hard it leaves him gasping for air, “to kill you.” 

“Feeling’s… mutual,” Jared pants out and slams his mouth into Jensen’s. The coppery taste of blood hits his tongue, lip stinging as he kisses Jensen violently hard, fingernails gouging skin as he meets Jensen’s vicious thrusts. Jensen growls, cock slamming into Jared even harder, faster, grinding and twisting. He holds Jared still, fingers bruising as they dig into the hollow of Jared’s hip, other hand twisting Jared’s head back. He locks his teeth around the muscle in Jared’s neck and bites down so hard it sends shocks of pain racing all through Jared, bleeding through the pleasure and then blending into it. 

Jared moans, shuddering, and shoves his neck into Jensen’s mouth, crying out at the flare of pain, skin pulling against Jensen’s teeth. “That all you got?” he whispers out, voice ragged, lips swollen and bruised. Jensen sinks his teeth even deeper, growling like an animal against Jared’s throat, before he yanks his mouth away.

“You never… fucking _quit_ , do you?” Jensen demands, rhythm of his hips changing, careless as he pounds into Jared so hard Jared’s whole body jolts with the force. 

“Fuck yeah,” Jared groans, fingers flexing against Jensen. “Like that.”

“God… make me… so… crazy,” mouth dragging, sliding spit-slick against Jared’s, hips pumping in harsh, jagged thrusts, fingernails carving trenches into Jared’s hips. “Never… had anyone… make me this crazy.”

Jared claims Jensen’s mouth, kissing him hard and deep, strong, hard twist of tongues circling as he lifts his hands and grabs the back of Jensen’s head, pulling him even deeper. He locks his legs around Jensen’s waist and holds on while Jensen fucks him mercilessly, ruthlessly hard. Jared’s never fucked or _been_ fucked like this in his entire life, and it feels so _good_ , so real and raw, slow burn simmering inside his belly, cock aching hard. 

“Hate you…” he moans into Jensen’s mouth. “Hate this… feels so fucking _good_ , God.” Jared doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, lost in the feel of Jensen all over him, inside him, pleasure and pain singing through him.

“So hot… shouldn’t be... so hot,” Jensen groans, sweating, slamming into Jared. He lets go of Jared’s hip with one hand, closes his fingers around Jared’s cock, and Jared’s whole body seizes, hips flying up off the mat as he comes in a blinding strike, pleasure ripping through him sharp and oh so fucking sweet. His fingers clutch against Jensen, head thrown back, whole body shivering and quaking, coming so hard he feels like he might _die_.

“Sweet fucking Christ,” Jensen whispers, ragged broken sound tearing from him as he thrusts deep, teeth seizing Jared’s lower lip, fingers tightening against Jared’s skin, hips going gracelessly wild. “God _dammit_ ,” he hisses, tearing away from Jared’s mouth, burying his teeth in Jared’s shoulder instead, whole body trembling as he keeps going, pushing deeper and deeper.

They clutch and tear at each other, riding it out until Jensen shudders and falls still against Jared’s chest.

They’re both panting for breath and Jared can feel Jensen’s heart hammering inside his chest just as hard as Jared’s. Jensen lifts his face and meets Jared’s eyes, long seconds passing, the two of them just staring at each other, Jensen looking as shell-shocked as Jared feels.

“That was…” Jared breathes.

“A mistake,” Jensen says, pulling out of Jared.

“Mistake,” Jared repeats, not sure he understood the word.

Jensen gets to his feet and turns away, tucking in and zipping up, condom and all. He runs a hand through his hair, and starts straightening his clothes.

“ _Mistake_?” Jared demands.

“Yes.” Jensen spins on him, still sweating, face flushed, and his hair’s still a fucking wreck. “Never, _ever_ , get involved with a client. Christ,” he breathes, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “I don’t even know…” he trails off, turning away again, hands pushing into his pockets. “What I was thinking,” he finishes, voice an angry murmur. “I _wasn’t_ thinking,” he finishes softly, as if to himself.

“Maybe,” Jared says, getting up on his knees and grabbing his shorts. “You did something you _wanted_ instead of something you _should_. Do you even know what that feels like?”

“Of course,” Jensen breathes, head tilting back as he stops pacing. He stares at the ceiling for a long moment and sighs out a long breath. “But this isn’t the place for that. I’m here to do a job.”

Jared yanks his shorts on, so furious he can barely see. “And you can’t do your job if you’re fucking me?” 

Jensen turns around to face him, eyes fixed on Jared’s face. “No. I can’t.” Whatever it is that Jensen’s seen, whatever it is that’s made him into the person he is, it’s never been as close to the surface as it is right now. His eyes are sad, hard and resigned. “This can’t ever happen again.”

Jared takes a step closer to Jensen, mouth tightening. “What happened to you, Jensen? What the fuck was it that turned you into such a _machine_?”

“I’m not a machine,” Jensen returns with a hard, sad smirk. “A machine…” Jensen says, turning and walking to the doors, “wouldn’t have made a mistake.” 

 

Once he’s out of the room, Jensen turns his earpiece on and radios Oliver to come down to the gym. He hesitates, finger poised over the tiny piece of plastic in his ear, and then tells Oliver to call his phone if anything happens just before he clicks it off.

He shouldn’t. Shouldn’t close the channel like that… but Oliver calling his phone is almost as quick and he… he needs… a moment. Alone.

The room he has here is hardly the retreat he would wish for, but it’ll have to do. He walks through the cushy, posh bedroom to the adjoining bathroom and turns on the sink, letting the water run cold. He bends down; closing his eyes, dips his hands into the stream and rubs them over his face.

_Ditching out while the condom’s still warm—that’s class, Jen._

What else was he supposed to do? he thinks, face surging up out of the cover of his hands, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. He’d only meant to teach Jared a lesson at the outset. He hadn’t meant for… anything like _that_ to happen.

Another voice that is not his own speaks up then, echoing down corridors of memory.

_“You’re cold on the outside, Jen, but on the inside, you’re on **fire**. You can’t change that, no matter how much you want to. I see you.”_

_The dock creaks beneath their weight, pale splintered wood. Hands on his skin, lips like sugar pressed against Jensen’s, sweet and knowing. Taste of sea salt caught between them on the bitter cold breeze._

_“You want this. You always have.”_

That voice… those words... _he_ doesn’t belong here, in this moment. Doesn’t belong anywhere, anymore. Ghosts and forgotten dreams, bitter taste of ashes.

He can’t _stand_ Jared. Jared drives him insane. He might owe Jared a huge apology, but…

He won’t fuck this up. 

He turns, stepping to the toilet and opens his pants, peeling the condom off of his soft, sticky cock. He throws it into the bowl and flushes it away, watching the water swirl before it makes a guttural sound, swallowing and empty. He washes up in the sink, shutting out any further thought as he changes his clothes, slipping into pajama pants. The couch is hard, but just soft enough that it won’t hurt his back, and he welcomes it as he falls down on it, argyle blanket pulled up to his shoulders. 

Thought tries to creep in again as he closes his eyes, and he puts it down hard. It’s simple enough after a moment; he’s spent so much of his life compartmentalizing that it’s second nature by now.

He falls down into sleep, thinking of nothing.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

Jared is still seething when he wakes up the next morning. His body still aches, bruised and sore from wrestling with Jensen, and every movement sends a low ache through him, pushing the memory to the front of his mind. He doesn’t even bother getting dressed, stalking down to the kitchen in his pajama pants and nothing else. He pulls open the freezer side of the fridge, hand closing on a pint of banana-fudge ice-cream he’s not supposed to eat, but he could give a shit right now.

At least he had the good sense to call Ethan last night and tell him to get rid of Jensen before he turned his phone off and proceeded to beat the punching bag to a pulp.

He closes the freezer door—and there’s Jensen, several feet away, just standing there in his fucking suit like he’s _supposed_ to be here.

“Why are you still here?” Jared hisses, eyes thinning to slits.

There’s something odd in Jensen’s expression as he looks at Jared, eyes not meeting Jared’s, lingering lower, across his chest—but before Jared has a chance to figure out what it might be, Jensen slides his hands into his pockets and meets Jared’s gaze. 

His expression turns cool as he says, “I work here.”

“I want you fucking _gone_!” Jared is livid, whole body lunging, closing the space between them in an instant, shoving his face into Jensen’s. 

Jensen doesn’t flinch. “Get over it.”

“ _I_ hired _you_ , remember?” Jared says, almost gloating. He’s got the upper hand here; he doesn’t need to lose his shit. “And I can _fire_ you.”

A muscle in Jensen’s jaw twitches, his eyes glinting with something that might be amusement. “Didn’t you read the contract?”

Jared’s so pissed he can barely follow what Jensen’s saying. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The contract can’t be terminated until a time determined by both parties, based on the job, at the time of the arrangement. In this case, at least three months with no further incidents or threats, unless I decide otherwise.” Jensen looks Jared levelly in the eye. “And I don’t leave a job unfinished.” 

He is going to _kill_ Jensen. And then he’s going to kill Ethan--and then he’s going to jail, which is fine as long as he gets to kill them both, first.

“Did you sign it yourself? Or did you have someone else do that for you, too?” Jensen asks, one eyebrow rising with mockery.

The world goes red-tinted, his teeth grinding, and something in his jaw creaks, pushed slightly out place. His face is burning up, skin prickling, ice cream dripping down his forearm, carton crushed in one fist.

“Hey, Jared, where’s the--” Chad walks into the room and then stops, taking in the scene. “Shit,” he says, sounding torn. “I don’t know whether to make popcorn or call 911.”

Jared crushes the carton tighter in his hand, squeezes it until his knuckles crack, firing with pain leftover from last night. He already knows he can’t lay a fucking _hand_ on Jensen, and that just makes him even _more_ furious. “Neither,” he grits out, throwing the ice cream container in the direction of the trash can. It hits the wall and bounces off, skittering across the tiled floor as he storms from the room.

 

Jensen had felt fine, pulled together and calm when he’d woken up this morning; prepared to apologize for his unprofessional behavior and move on. And then Jared had shut the freezer door, standing there in his pajama pants, chest bare, light bruises blooming across his throat and collarbone where Jensen had held him down—and everything had come rushing back.

He’d gone a little too far—again—with his reaction to Jared’s anger, which admittedly, Jensen had somewhat deserved. He’d just been caught off-guard by Jared’s half-naked body, those bruises… purple fading to green at the edges, indelible marks pressed into Jared’s skin by the strength of his own hands—

Thinking about that isn’t going to make things any better. 

He shuts the image down hard and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on the center counter. Chad’s still in the kitchen, pulling orange juice from the fridge. Chad pops it open, tips it up and takes a long gulp straight from the carton, swallowing hard before he looks at Jensen. “Nice to see you two getting along,” Chad comments.

“I’m a people person,” Jensen agrees as he passes Chad by, walking from the kitchen.

 

Jared has a late set-call today, which leaves the morning open. Oliver and Colin are on alert to let him know if Jared decides to leave the house, so Jensen spends the early part of the morning checking the house perimeter, and when that’s done, he walks the grounds, doing a manual check of everything until he’s come full circle, lazy shafts of early afternoon sunlight slanting through the trees.

The cameras are doing their jobs fine, but Jensen likes to keep his hands in things. Technology can be fooled; his gut can’t. There are no signs of disturbance, either inside the grounds or around the outer wall where someone might climb up, trying to get a look beyond the seven foot tall stone walls surrounding the house.

It’s well past one o’clock when he takes the stairs down to the gym. He relieves Oliver and waits outside the opaque glass doors until he can hear footsteps echoing hollowly against the hard wood floor. He counts the steps in his head, and then turns to open the door, precisely at the moment Jared is reaching for the handle.

Jared’s hair is still wet from the showers in the gym, his t-shirt clinging damply to his chest. He hesitates on the threshold, looking at Jensen silently.

“I want to apologize,” Jensen says.

“Don’t bother,” Jared snorts, starting to push past him.

Jensen steps a little further in front of Jared, halting him. “Things got out of control last night. I let my anger get the best of me; my behavior was completely unprofessional and out of line. I’m sorry for that.”

Jared’s squinting at him with narrow eyes that clearly state that Jensen’s apology is not being accepted. “Are you done?”

“No. You need to understand that I still have a job to do,” Jensen tells him. “And in order for me to do that efficiently, we need to move past this.”

Jared laughs with a brittle sound as he steps around Jensen. “Fuck off, _Mr. Ackles_.”

Jensen bites his tongue, turns around and lets Jared get several steps ahead before he falls into step behind him.

 

By four o’clock, Jared’s in the make-up chair, wearing his usual tank top and jeans, and Jensen is ignoring Jared as completely as Jared been ignoring him since Jensen apologized this afternoon.

The make-up girls come bustling out of the back, and Jensen glances over at them.

Janice is standing there, staring at Jared with her mouth open. “What happened to your neck?”

Jensen glances over to where Jared’s sitting, and their eyes meet for a brief second. “Rough scene yesterday,” Jared tells her, looking away from Jensen.

Janice sighs and heads into the back room of the trailer again. “It’s going to take every kind of cover-up I have to hide those.” 

Jensen’s eyes drift to watch her go, and then snap back to Jared.

Jared’s sitting there, staring off into space, forefinger pressing absently into one of the bruises along the line of his throat, and Jensen looks away quickly. 

 

When Jared’s scene finishes shooting, it’s well past midnight. On their way out, Jared doesn’t speak to him unless absolutely necessary, and once, when Jensen touches Jared’s shoulder to hold him back, leaning close to ask him to wait, Jared flinches away like Jensen burned him.

The irony of the situation isn’t lost on Jensen. He’d been the one to make the rules about space, after all, and then broken them. Jared’s putting up barriers, and that’s _good_. Jared pulling back will get them back on a professional basis, which is where they should have stayed.

In the backseat of the car, Jared leans against the far window and presses a hand to his chin, staring out the window as the city rushes by. The silence between them is an almost palpable thing, something to contend with all in itself, and Jensen ignores it, turning away to look out his own window.

Checking Jared’s room is procedure by now, although Jensen pays complete attention to every detail of it. The bedding is freshly laundered like it always is, clean scent of dryer sheets and fabric softener rising from them, and he wonders for a moment why Jared has them cleaned daily; if he sweats into them at night or if—

He cuts off the thought, fingers running behind the wood of the headboard and finishing his inspection. Everything’s clear.

“Are you done yet?” Jared’s voice is dark, angry, sharp as the lash of a whip.

“I am.”

When Jensen turns, sliding and rising from the bed, Jared’s right there, staring down at him, arms folded across his massive chest.

“Is there a problem?” Jensen asks, looking up at Jared.

“Yeah,” Jared says, short and harsh. “You’re still in my room.” His eyes are almost black in the dim light, simmering, mouth set into a straight, flat line, and Jensen can’t tell for the life of him if this is a dismissal or an invitation. The tight, barely repressed anger is evident in every line of Jared’s body, his mouth, his spine, muscles coiled tight and just barely held in check. It radiates from him in waves, and Jensen can feel it, strange, electric energy working under his skin.

Jared’s _begging_ for a fight, and Jensen feels something inside him shift, rising up, wanting to answer. Jensen stomps on the feeling, meets those challenging eyes with a steadiness conjured up out of pure discipline.

“I was just leaving.” He arches a brow and looks Jared up and down, telling Jared to move with his eyes and nothing more.

Jared just stares at him; chest swelling with a deep breath beneath his forearms, jaw grinding so hard that Jensen can see the way the muscles flex. “Good.” His voice is husky, almost gritty, gaze magnetic as he stares at Jensen. “Get the fuck out.”

Jared steps backward—one foot moving back, just enough space for Jensen to walk by without making a scene or seeming to give ground, and Jensen hesitates, staring into those dark, hateful, somehow inviting eyes. His impulse is to put a hand on Jared’s chest and push him backward, force him to give way. He steps past Jared instead, shoulder brushing against Jared’s chest.

He’s barely outside the door when it slams shut behind him.

Just as well, he thinks, and gives Oliver a nod. Oliver’s eyes are full of questions, but Jensen doesn’t answer any of them, moving past him down the hall.

 

Jensen walks down the hallway slowly, mind distracted from the path he’s set his feet upon. When he gets to his room, he stands there for a moment, eyeing the couch.

He’s tired—beyond tired—but he can’t sleep. He might as well try to get some work done.

He grabs the file folder from the desk and leaves the room, heading back in the direction he’d just traveled. The movie room is just as he left it, and he settles into the chair with a sigh, throwing the file on the coffee table. It lays there, manila cover mocking him, files inside spilling past the edge onto polished wood, and he knows it’s not going to tell him anything else. He sighs and rubs a hand across his jaw, leans back in the wooden chair and loosens his tie. 

He’s been over everything, again and again. He has no leads, no new information. Things with Jared are… less than adequate. 

This case is getting to him. It has been for a while, and he’s been holding it at bay, trying to keep his mind fully on the job. But no one can function at full capacity all the time. Not even him. It’s a lesson he’d had to learn the hard way, but it’s one that he took to heart after it was brought to his undivided attention.

He needs a break. 

He picks a movie from the shelf without much thought, putting it into the DVD player. The wooden chair is closest, and he almost sits down on it before he looks at the recliner set an angle to the TV. 

The armchair recliner is softer than it looks, and Jensen reaches down, pulls the lever so that it slides back, body fitting to the curve. 

Jared is young in this movie—nineteen if Jensen squints and tilts his head sideways—and he’s playing the reluctant hero to the hilt, rebellious slant to his shoulders, cuffs of his jean jacket rolled just above his fists. Jared reaches the edge of the scene, hips jutting out, head tilting back to catch the light. The line of his throat moves as he swallows, weight of everything his character is carrying conveyed in the simple movement. 

The girl who has been his support and his greatest weakness throughout the movie moves up behind him in the frame, dark hair and darker eyes fixed on Jared’s back. She rests her chin on Jared’s shoulder, hands sliding up inside the jacket Jared’s wearing, tracing slow lines out over his chest, and Jared’s head tilts back further, jaw muscles flexing. She’s a temptation the character can’t afford, and it’s clear in every movement Jared makes as the girl slides the jacket from him, whispering into his ear, his whole body tense, struggling on the edge.

The jacket falls to the floor with a whispering sound of finality, and Jared’s hands flex, clenching helplessly.

Jared spins on her, predatory ripple of muscle beneath the skin that Jensen recognizes. He’s got his hands everywhere, like he can’t decide where to put them, palms running over smooth skin, sliding into the girl’s hair, pushing down and then pulling the girl up into a sudden, passionate kiss. Quick flashes of bare skin, clothing torn away, clutching hands and desperation sealed with the kisses to prove it, Jared’s mouth smearing against hers, until Jared is sweating, skin glistening, biceps flexing beneath the skin as he moves, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut as he thrusts with his hips, whole body shuddering. Forehead pressed against the girl’s, slick with sweat, and she’s nothing but an afterthought in the frame, Jared stealing everything, body grinding, shoving, every bit of him visible except for where he’s buried between the girl’s legs, ass impossibly round and tanned and _perfect_ as he slides in and out of her.

Body oiled, exquisitely lit, every curve of muscle captured in shadow and golden light, calves and thick thighs, perfect ass, back muscles rippling, shoulders flexing—

Jensen takes a deep breath. Jesus. Jesus _Christ_.

He’s hard, cock aching insistently against his thigh, and the camera angles up underneath Jared’s chin, slide of teeth over his lower lip, dragging and catching, sinking deep. 

_\--Hate you…Hate this… feels so fucking **good** , God .--_

Jensen’s hand slides down between his thighs, pushing against the feeling building inside him. His cock twitches, wetness leaking from the tip, sticking against his skin, and he hisses in a breath.

Jared’s stomach muscles undulate, hips grinding left and right, camera gliding to look up his body, lower lip seized between his teeth, and the angle is so perfect that for a moment Jensen can imagine Jared just like this, sweating out bullets while he grinds, riding Jensen’s cock.

Jensen’s hand falls to line of his zipper, tugging it open, fingers stumbling through the opening. 

Jared’s eyes fly open, narrowing in the frame, looking down camera at Jensen himself, ragged need reflected in them.

His hand closes around the hard, hot head of his cock, stroking up the length as Jared moves onscreen. Perfect matching rhythm, the two of them moving in time, shaking, shuddering strokes, and Jared throws his head back, mouth opening wide before his teeth snap shut. He looks just like he did when Jensen fucked him; ridden raw and loving every second and Jensen can’t—can’t—

God, he _can’t_. He _shouldn’t_ , not like this. Not with Jared barely old enough to do this kind of scene and being his client—except--his hand is wrapped around his dick, and Jared’s eyes are piercing right through the screen, staring down at Jensen as he curls and thrusts, driving deep again and again—

He comes, watching Jared watching him, sticky wetness streaking his belly, hips thrusting into his own hand, throat raw and aching against silence. 

The movie goes on, moving past that scene to another, and Jensen just breathes, hand still curled around his softening cock, boxers and pants slowly soaking through. That was… unexpected. When he’s on a job he focuses on it at the expense of his own needs, ignoring them until they begin to work against him, distracting him. Then, he takes care of the need quickly by himself and puts it behind him, focusing on the job again. His personal sex life doesn’t blur over into his work, he keeps the two separate. To do anything else is to invite trouble.

He didn’t just invite trouble last night; he’d kicked open the door and _summoned_ it, and it’s clearly not leaving now that it’s been admitted. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again, Jared’s face is on the screen, young and beautiful, staring at Jensen with enigmatic eyes. 

It isn’t anger or hatred Jensen feels when he looks at Jared, and it certainly isn’t indifference. He doesn’t know what it is, but he knows one thing for certain.

He needs to be stronger than this.

 

Jensen’s waiting, back turned, broad shoulders filling out the lines of his suit, when Jared gets to the car for his morning call. The sight of him gets right under Jared’s skin and pisses him off, his decent mood curdling and evaporating on the cool air. Jared curls his fingers, nails cutting into his palms for a moment, and then walks around to the other side of the car, opening the door and climbing inside.

Jensen opens the door on the other side and gets into the car. He doesn’t look Jared’s way, as far as Jared can tell from the edge of his vision, and he definitely doesn’t say anything.

Jared grits his teeth and stares out the window the whole way to the filming lot, bright morning sunshine nearly blinding him.

 

The shoot is long and grueling, he and Jason working on a flashback scene where they meet for the first time. It’s physically and mentally demanding, fighting while throwing dialogue back and forth, and they spend the entire day working on two minutes of film, Jared waist deep in water for half of it, freezing his ass off. By the time it’s done, Jared’s inhaled and choked on more water than can possibly be healthy, and he’s _really_ fucking tired of Jason throwing him around.

He’s barely finished with the scene, hair still soaking wet and freezing to the bone when Jensen steps in from off camera to escort him back to make-up and wardrobe. He grits his teeth and bears it, holding it together in front of the crew. It’s not incredibly late when they get back to the car, and Jared’s ready for a shower, stress of the day pent up and setting him on edge.

He needs to do _something_.

 

Jared doesn’t speak, from the set to the car to his room, his every movement exaggerated, silence building like a disease between them, and it bothers Jensen that he can sense it; slow erosion of anything like pretense, anything like formality--anything resembling a working relationship.

Jensen gives the room and the bathroom a brief check. He’s already checked in with house security and everything seems normal. Jensen’s just rising to his feet from the corner of the bathroom, turning around when he sees Jared standing two feet away, back turned. 

“I need to go out,” Jared mutters, arms crossing in front of his chest. He strips the shirt away, back muscles flexing, shoulder blades cutting sharp shadows across his bare, tanned skin. 

Jensen spares a glance for the material as it falls to the floor. The last thing he needs is another fiasco like they’d had the last time Jared went out. “I’d prefer that you didn’t.”

“Good for you,” Jared snaps, turning his head just slightly. “I don’t particularly give a flying _fuck_ what you’d prefer.”

Jensen sets his teeth together and shuts out the sound of Jared popping the button on his jeans; the thin, gritty sound of the zipper drawn open. “It’s far more difficult to protect you efficiently in public.” 

Jared snorts and doesn’t bother to answer, slowly toeing out of his shoes. 

“Especially when you try to slip away from me at every opportunity to fuck people in back alleyways,” Jensen adds. 

Jared smirks over his shoulder, vitriol dripping from his every word. “That would have been better than what I got.” 

Jensen’s temper rises instantly to the barb, and he isn’t sure why it seems to work under his skin, annoyance beginning to edge into something darker. 

Calm. Stay calm. Jared’s _trying_ to rile him up.

“An anonymous back alley fuck would be ‘better’?” Jensen asks, attempting to be casual.

“Compared to you?” Jared snorts. “ _Yes_.”

Jensen’s temper slips another notch, and he’s starting not to care. He can feel his mouth thin into a hard smirk. “I didn’t hear you complaining while I was fucking you.” He takes a step closer to Jared. “All I heard,” he says, “was you begging for it like a slut.”

Jared spins on him with the sloppiest roundhouse Jensen’s seen out of him yet, and he raises his hand, blocks the punch and snakes his hand around the outside of Jared’s wrist, thumb and fingers circling the width and holding tight.

Jared’s mouth slams into him right behind, harsh and messy angle that leaves his teeth sliding along Jensen’s lower lip, tongue pushing into his mouth hungrily, and Jensen closes his teeth around it instinctively, scraping down the length, tip of his tongue circling Jared’s, hand clenching around Jared’s wrist like an iron band. Jared gasps at the sensation, sucking in a stolen breath from Jensen’s lungs and tilts his face down, opening his mouth wider, tongue slick and hot, weight of him shoving into Jensen. Jensen can feel him everywhere, pressed up against him--all hard, lithe muscle, chest and hips and the hardness between grinding against Jensen, Jared’s body feverishly hot, like he’s burning up inside.

Jensen puts his hand on Jared’s chest, takes a deep breath and _pushes_ , fingers letting go of Jared’s wrist.

Jared staggers back a couple of steps, mouth still open and panting, lips shiny.

“You kissed me back,” he accuses, as surprised as Jensen feels inside. Jared’s eyes narrow, slow understanding dawning visibly in his eyes, mouth closing into a slight curve.

Jensen breathes in slowly, letting the air fill his lungs, and puts another step between them. “Don’t flatter yourself. I do have instincts.”

“Like the instincts you had when you fucked me raw the other night.” The words aren’t a question, Jared’s jaw firming into a line, corner of his mouth curling in a knowing smirk. He takes a step forward, closing the distance between them again. 

“If you throw yourself at someone like a whore, don’t be surprised when you get fucked like one,” Jensen tells him.

Jared stops moving like Jensen just slapped him. The color drains from Jared’s face, cheeks burning bright spots of crimson, mouth dropping open. “God...” he breathes. “I fucking _hate_ you.”

“Don’t hate taking my cock, though, do you?” Jensen can feel his mouth curl in a sneer, see the way Jared’s eyes widen, nostrils flaring. He can see the punch coming a mile away, and for a second, he thinks about letting it land. He probably deserves it after that. But no, he can’t risk being injured—not if he’s going to do his job. He _really_ needs to keep his mind on the job.

Jensen wraps his fingers around Jared’s wrist and throws his shoulder back to catch the momentum, stopping the punch. Unfortunately, that leaves his face about three inches from Jared’s. Jared’s eyes are wide and dark, shooting furious sparks, mouth breathing out hot against Jensen’s. “Stop,” he whispers, voice low and emphatic, and for a moment, he isn’t sure which of them he’s speaking to.

“You don’t want to stop,” Jared tells him fiercely, almost vengefully, breathing heavy, leaning in closer. “Any more than I do.” Jared’s mouth, a bare centimeter from his, words whispered out feverishly, fervent. “Hate you so fucking much…hate you…want you…” Jared whispers out, like it’s a secret he can’t hide, mouth painting words on Jensen’s lips. “Can’t fuck anyone else when you’re around,” Jared moans into him. “God, don’t _want_ to fuck anyone else. Can’t think about anything besides this…” Jared bites at Jensen’s lower lip, hips canting into Jensen’s, voice a low rough growl. “Come on, Jensen. Do it.”

Jensen doesn’t think—can’t think--growling back, reaching up and seizing Jared by the hair, thick strands rushing through and catching, twisting as he pulls Jared’s head back, throwing both of them against the wall, Jared’s body pinned between, Jared’s wrist still captured in his other hand. He shoves Jared’s hand up and holds it against the wall, mouths slamming together savagely hard. Jared writhes against him, bodies molded together, and Jensen can feel every single hard inch of him through his clothes, cock a thick, hot line grinding into Jensen, and Jensen thrusts back, hips pinning Jared’s against the wall, sweet fucking friction of their cocks rubbing together.

“Deny it all you want,” Jared gasps between biting at Jensen’s mouth. “You _want_ this,” he breathes, words hot, rushed, tinged with victory. 

_\--You want this. You always have--_

“You want me.” Jared whispers the words out guttural and thick, cock grinding into him. “Tell me again how we can’t do this. How it isn’t right. Come on, Jensen. Tell me while you _fuck_ me.”

_God._

Jensen snarls, grabs Jared by the shoulders and spins him around, one leg hooking behind Jared’s left calf and pushing him to the floor. Jared lands flat on his back, Jensen on top of him, bodies slamming together, and Jared grunts, thrusts his hips up into Jensen, teeth closing on the shell of Jensen’s ear, hands tearing at Jensen’s suit jacket. Jensen grabs Jared’s hands around the wrists and throws them on the floor with a growl, face tilting down, tongue trailing along the length of Jared’s neck, teeth scraping, biting down on the darkening bruises there, Jared hissing, fighting and twisting like a wildcat underneath him.

“Dying for it, aren’t you?” Jensen sinks his teeth deeper, tugging against the skin, feels Jared stiffen and cry out, back arching, body rippling. He knows it’s got to hurt, but Jared doesn’t shy away; throws his head back and bares his throat, shoving it deeper into Jensen’s mouth and begging breathlessly for more. Jensen holds him with one hand wrapped around both wrists, other moving down, ripping at the waistline of Jared’s jeans and tugging one side down before he grabs the other, yanking it hard. Jared lifts his hips, arching up, and Jensen digs his fingers tight, peeling Jared’s pants down to his knees, teeth sinking into Jared’s chest, skin slippery between, slick with his spit, tongue licking up the center. Jared kicks his feet, and for a moment, Jensen thinks he’s trying to get away, crushes Jared harder against the tile with his weight—and then, distantly, he feels Jared kicking out of his pants, hips wriggling and teasing against Jensen’s dick.

Jensen bites viciously hard and Jared moans, loud and long, sound ending in a whimper as Jensen twists his neck, teeth tearing away. He lets go of Jared long enough to reach for his back pocket, deft fingers finding the condom there and yanking it free, Jared’s hands freed to grab at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back, palms cupping his ass with a little moan, squeezing and _grinding_ and _Christ_ \--

He shoves his hand down, weight holding Jared’s hips still, diving and seizing Jared’s lower lip between his teeth, hand unzipping his pants, pulling his cock free. He starts to use both hands to get the condom on and then Jared’s hand wraps around his cock, rolling the rubber down the hard length. Jensen’s hips stutter forward, one hand flying to Jared’s hair and twisting his face back so he can bite at the line of Jared’s jaw.

“Rolling the condom on… can’t even wait for me to fuck you,” he whispers, voice raw against Jared’s skin. 

“Do it,” Jared grates, hips rising against the air.

“Gonna fuck you so hard,” Jensen promises, spitting into his palm, grabbing the length of his own cock and sliding down. “Not even gonna bother opening you,” he grunts, slick head pushing at Jared’s hot, tight hole. “Fucked you so hard yesterday I bet I don’t even need to.” He gathers his hips under him and thrusts, feeling Jared gasp and stiffen, crying out sounds that aren’t anything resembling words but scream for more. Body tightening around him like a hot, silken fist, and he slides lightning quick to the bottom, bodies meeting with a sudden jolt as he arches his back, twisting his hips and rolling them side to side, toes pushing off the tile and driving just that little bit deeper that sends Jared’s head crashing back against the floor like a gunshot.

“Knew you’d take it,” Jensen’s mouth curls into a wicked grin against Jared’s skin, “just like a fucking _slut_ ,” he whispers, hips dragging out and pistoning back in, driving Jared’s ass deep into the floor and Christ he feels good—body wrapped tight all around him, taking him so deep, nails cutting into Jensen’s bare skin under his shirt, clinging and just holding on while Jensen shudders and twists and thrusts, fucking him within an inch of his life. His hands grip Jared’s body hard, space between the forefinger and thumb of his right hand pressed against the v of Jared’s throat, fingers fitting to the bruises he left there yesterday, and he can barely stand it, the look of his marks on that skin, standing out almost black beneath the sheen of sweat.

“The things… you make me want… to do to you…” Jensen gasps, snapping his hips harder, fucking Jared ruthlessly hard. “Want to…” hands pressing Jared against the floor, “fuck you until… you can’t walk…” forehead sliding wet against Jared’s cheek, “fuck your hot, arrogant mouth...” hips seesawing between Jared’s legs, “right out…” twist, thrust, “of existence.”

“Christ,” Jared gasps between thrusts of Jensen’s cock, body rippling with sinuous rhythm, meeting Jensen stroke for stroke. 

“Fuck you until you can’t breathe… until you’re thrashing around, begging… and then…” Jensen breathes, “fuck you…” twisting his hips brutally deep, “even _harder_.” Thumbs digging deeper into the base of Jared’s throat—and Jared’s whole body tenses, tightening down, squeezing around Jensen’s cock.

“Fuck,” Jared moans, word so mangled Jensen can barely understand it, and then Jared’s head twists up off the floor, mouth smashing into Jensen’s, gasping out _yes_. 

“And you’d… love it,” Jensen tells him, grabbing him by the hair, hips corkscrewing, cock skidding, Jared jolting underneath him. “God, _love_ it,” teeth seizing in Jared’s lower lip, biting deep, licking away, “don’t you?”

Jared’s beyond words, groaning out a garbled, broken sound, hand fisting around his own cock. Jensen grinds down, whole body flying forward, spine arching, stiffening as Jared’s muscles lock down tight and he surges up from the floor, free hand clawing at Jensen, teeth fastening on Jensen’s collarbone. Jared comes, inner muscles flexing like a fist around Jensen’s cock, streaking both of them chest to belly.

“So… hot,” Jensen gasps, giving one last twist of his hips and plowing deep. He comes with the force of a thunderclap, cock buried inside Jared, teeth snapping together, world whiting out behind his eyes. His belly is a molten hot mess, cock pulsing as he pulls back, slams into Jared, again and again with graceless, helpless rhythm.

Jared’s palms fit to the back of Jensen’s head, dragging him down, sharp teeth closing around his chin, mouth hot and desperate as he pushes up into Jensen, body still thrusting, milking Jensen’s cock. Lips sealing against Jensen’s, tongue pushing into his mouth, nails raking through his hair, kissing him ferociously, and Jensen pulses one last time, shuddering and moaning into Jared’s mouth. Jared takes advantage of the moment, rolling them both over, long, hard, naked body draped all over Jensen, kiss driving his head back against the floor, mouth opening wider, hands gripping Jared’s ass and—

He shouldn’t be doing this—Christ, what _is_ he doing? And why can’t he stop?

Jared’s got his hands on Jensen’s clothes again, tearing at them, shirt ripping open with sheer strength, nails scraping over Jensen’s bare skin, and his cock twitches once, hips jerking into Jared. Jared’s got his hands everywhere, and fuck, it’s hot. Jared clearly wants another round, tongue trailing across Jensen’s lower lip, biting down. 

He tears his mouth away from Jared’s, breathing out hard. “Stop.” Fingers wrapped around Jared’s neck, thumb pushing against the pulse. “Jared, stop.”

Jared’s eyes are glazed, uncomprehending for a moment. “What--”

Jensen grabs Jared by the shoulders and rolls him to the side, getting to his feet before Jared can touch him again. He needs to _breathe_ , needs to think, and he needs to get the fuck out of here as fast as he can, because—

Jared lunges and Jensen moves to the side, dodging and tucking in, trying to put himself together enough to walk through the house. The shirt is a loss, but the jacket should cover him long enough to get to his room.

“You are not fucking leaving me like this _again_.” The haze has cleared from Jared’s eyes, familiar anger rushing to fill the void.

“We can’t keep doing this.”

“You keep saying that—and we keep doing it.” Jared advances on him a slow step, dangerous triumph in his eyes.

Jensen reaches out, puts his hand on Jared’s chest and holds the distance between them. Jared’s still naked, skin sweaty against Jensen’s fingers, so focused on Jensen that he doesn’t even seem aware of it. Jensen’s aware of it, though, way more aware of it than he should be.

“I have to do my job,” Jensen tells him, reaching for his practiced calm. “It’s more important than anything else. If I let myself get distracted by you like this, I could miss something. Something could happen to you, and I--” He breaks off and shakes his head. 

“‘You’ what?” Jared’s lips are swollen, dark pink from their kisses, eyes narrowing on Jensen with sharp curiosity.

“‘You’ _what_?” Jared repeats, enunciating each word like the snap of a lash.

“I signed a contract.” 

“Screw the contract!” Jared is livid. “We’re way past the fucking contract here.”

“I know.” Jensen might not know what the fuck is going on between them, but he knows _that_. “That’s why this has to stop.”

“God _dammit_.” Jared face contorts with fury, lips drawing back over his teeth. “You stupid, stubborn, _motherfucker_.” Jared throws his hands in the air and yells out another string of curses, and Jensen takes a step backward, hands falling to button his suit jacket. 

He can feel Jared’s anger snap, flipping from red-hot to ice cold in an instant.

“Is that really all you care about? Buttoning your fucking jacket so you can leave?” Jared’s face could be carved from stone, it’s so still.

“No.” Jensen’s voice sounds tired, even to his own ears, and he _feels_ tired; bone-tired and soul weary. “I care about doing this job right.”

Jared’s eyes and mouth thin to hard, fine lines, jaw clenching, and he shakes his head in disgust. “Just get out.” It’s so calm, the way he says it; simple, raw hatred, and somehow, it’s even worse than his fury.

Jensen should say he’s sorry—say _something_ —but the words would fall flat. They wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference anyway.

He leaves.

 

The car ride in the morning is even more of a bitch than the one before it. Jensen is as gorgeous and completely confident as ever, and Jared hates him on sight, wants to crush him with his bare hands. Jared slams the door shut with far more force than is necessary, whole car rocking with the impact. Jensen climbs in beside him after a moment, and Jared glances over, can’t help himself.

The line of his jaw is familiar by now, profile recorded to memory, the swell of his lower lip pink and known. Jared knows what he _tastes_ like, what his face looks like when he lets his guard down for a few moments, and that’s what gets to him, works under his skin deeper than anything else.

He cuts his eyes away, watching LA stream by on fast forward through the window.

Jared might spin a certain image for the cameras, for other stars, even for his life when it’s at the mercy of the press, but he’s never been stupid. If he were stupid, it would be a blessing, because then he wouldn’t have to know how the touch of Jensen’s hands affects him far more than physically.

He can feel Jensen’s eyes on him lingering occasionally across the car, the same way his are drawn to Jensen when Jensen isn’t paying attention. All the packaging is still the same; confident and capable, set straight to business, but his eyes… they’re troubled around the edges, clouded by memory, human and very, very aware of it. 

Jared doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know why he _should_ make anything of it. Jensen’s been cracking slowly, careful, perfect paint peeling away like a mask, and still, for all Jared sees, for all Jensen’s shown, it isn’t enough. There’s still this distance between them.

He _hates_ Jensen for making him understand this, and that isn’t new. But this feeling, in particular… it cuts closer to the bone.

It isn’t that Jensen rejected him after fucking him—twice. It isn’t that Jared can’t keep his eyes off him no matter how hard he tries. It isn’t that Jared came with his own fingers in his ass last night, other hand stroking his cock while the memory of Jensen fucking him burned in his mind. It isn’t that Jensen is confident and efficient and independently capable beyond anyone Jared’s ever known. It isn’t the glimpses Jared’s gotten of Jensen, where he forgets the job and becomes completely human.

It’s all of those things, put together and wrapped inside one mysterious, hot-ass package. 

It’s that Jared wants _more_. 

Jensen makes him want more. And fuck Jensen for that.

 

The shoot isn’t as physically draining this time, but the make-up and hairstylists are in and out every few minutes, and Jason is a complete prima donna pain in the ass. He throws Jared on the floor of the set for the tenth time, and Jared’s teeth rattle with the impact, clenching together in anger that’s one hundred percent genuine. His eyes are narrowed, fixed on Jason as he looks up to deliver his line and—

Behind Jason and to the left, Jensen is standing, his posture quietly composed beside one of the cameramen. He’s staring at Jason, crinkles at the corners of his eyes cutting deep lines into his face, mouth a set in a solid line. 

“Cut,” Peter sighs, tiredly. “Jared…”

Jason’s smile is malicious; a mile-wide river of glee as Jared bounces to his feet. He looks at Jensen, sees the steely resolve in him, the silent question he’s asking. It’s clear in his stance, every line of his body.

Jared swallows hard, pushes back his own anger and shakes his head. Jensen eases back an inch, eyes relaxing a fraction, body fading into the background as the scene begins again.

Jared’s good, he can do this—and if he throws Jason around a little harder than necessary during the next part? Well… it’s all in the name of realism.

It isn’t until much later, when he’s in the make-up chair with Janice and Lauren swabbing his face with cotton balls that he realizes what happened. 

His eyes flick up to find Jensen standing by the door.

Jensen hesitates just a moment before he looks very deliberately elsewhere.

 

Jensen checks Jared’s room and bathroom--just a cursory check since it’s only 10pm and Jared has no intentions for the immediate future except for showering. Well, except for maybe…

Jensen’s back is turned to him, but he can tell the moment Jensen is done, rising to his feet, whole body relaxing.

Jared reaches out, fingers settling on Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen turns to face him slowly.

There’s want in his eyes, and Jared feels it like a punch to the gut, sees something deeper, darker, layered beneath it.

“You can’t stop this.” Jared breathes in deep, hit by the realization. “You don’t even want to.”

Jensen blinks, holding the motion just a fraction of a second longer than normal before he meets Jared’s gaze, level and steady. “I have to.” His tone is calm, but Jared thinks he can hear Jensen’s voice fraying around the edges; hear the want that he saw just a moment before, pushed down underneath.

“Jensen.” Jared closes the distance between them without thinking, and Jensen’s hand against his chest is a surprise, a firm reprimand that leaves him standing there, lost.

“Stop,” Jensen grates, eyes flashing at Jared. “If you need to go out…” He takes a breath and his voice gets even stronger. “If you need to fuck someone in a back alleyway, then do it. I’ll protect you.” Jensen shakes his head, mouth thinning. “But don’t come to me looking for it. I can’t give you that.”

Jared is stunned all over again by the way Jensen pushes his armor into place, shutting his eyes without closing them, and that he can do that, now, after all this—

“Going out sounds like a _great_ idea,” Jared snaps, turning away.

He shuts the bathroom door behind him, and Jensen doesn’t follow.

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

Jared decides to go to the private bar again, and Jensen’s more grateful for that than he should be. At least it’s a closed club, with a ton of security he’s already got a line into. Jared’s not speaking to him since their exchange in his room, and this is a good thing; it’ll let him do his job a hell of a lot more efficiently. 

Jared’s… different when they arrive at the club, more “Hollywood” in him than Jensen’s seen in so long that it throws him a bit. Brilliant smile and casual moves, but there’s an edge to him that’s electric, enthralling. 

Doesn’t matter. He’s here to do a job. 

He watches the crowd as he follows Jared through it. Jared heads straight for the bar to get a drink, and Jensen rolls his eyes when Jared starts flirting with some pretty guy sitting there. 

Fine. He sets his jaw and settles into the thought. Jared might want to bring someone home tonight; it’s not any different than anything Jensen’s dealt with on a job before.

The guy’s got brown eyes and white-blond hair, and Jensen notices a sort of familiarity between them that says to him that they know each other already, though not incredibly well. Jensen sweeps the room with his eyes, following movements in the crowd, noting where their attention is focused, body language and position. Every time he looks back at Jared, he’s still flirting outrageously with the guy at the bar, and knot of tension starts to settle in between Jensen’s shoulder blades.

Jared is toying with the stirrer in his drink with one hand, other resting on the other guy’s forearm, fingers trailing lightly back and forth. That bright, wide smile, the warm, lazy look in his eyes, twinkling with invitation.

Jensen glances at a man brushing by, and then keeps looking around the room.

Jared’s starting to draw a large crowd, and Jensen has his hands full trying to keep track of everything going on. Even when he’s not looking at them, Jensen can hear Jared and the other guy laughing occasionally, over the music and chatter of the club.

Finally, Jared gets up from his seat at the bar, the guy beside him rising, the whole group starting to move as Jared yells something about the VIP room. Jared talks to a few people on his way through the crowd, Jensen following just behind him, Jared linked arm in arm with the pretty guy, group trailing in their wake. There’s a door at the back of the club with a guard standing in front of it, and Jensen can’t hear what Jared’s saying over the noise of the crowd—doesn’t have time to read their lips, he’s so busy looking around at everyone near them. 

The guard lets them pass, about twenty people spilling through the door behind them before it finally shuts. Jensen takes a quick look around, pacing out the edges of the room—which is big enough to hold a hundred people—and then down the short hallway that ends at a small bathroom with a couple stalls, urinals and sinks. It’s doubtful that there’s anyone here, but he checks the stalls anyway. It only takes him maybe thirty seconds to sweep the hallway and bathroom, and when he walks back out into the VIP room, Jared’s got both his arms wrapped around the pretty guy’s neck, inches from his face, saying something Jensen doesn’t even _want_ to hear. Jared glances over at Jensen just before Jensen can look away, and then Jared pulls the pretty guy down on one of the couches. 

Jensen averts his eyes, snapping them away with annoyance. He positions himself near the door, between it and the end of the couch Jared’s on, back to the wall. The tension between his shoulders pulls tighter, and he’s edgy for reasons that have nothing to do with danger. He keeps an eye on the twenty-three other people in the room, glancing over at Jared occasionally to make sure everything’s all right.

Every time he looks, Jared’s _staring_ at him, eyes wide open as he kisses the other guy. There’s a challenge in those eyes, a hint of mockery. The other guy’s got his hands all over Jared, and they look like they’re about to fuck right there on the couch. Jensen’s wound so tight he feels like he’s going to snap.

Jensen has no idea why he ever took this fucking job. Jared’s a spoiled rotten, rich, Hollywood _bitchboy_ that makes Jensen want to put his fist through a wall—actually, right through Jared’s fucking grinning, privileged, ignorant smart-assed _mouth_.

Jensen’s supposed to leap between this guy and a flying bullet? Hell, he should be helping the _killer_ out.

All right. Breathe. He’s a trained professional, for fuck’s sake. 

He steadies his breathing, calms himself and refocuses. He’s fine for another minute or two, looking around the room, and then he looks back at Jared. Jared’s getting up from the couch, pulling the guy with him, their mouths locked, kissing each other desperately, their bodies molded against each other. Jared’s tugging the guy down the hallway towards the bathroom, and Jensen grits his teeth together _hard_ , moving stiffly to follow them.

Jensen moves through the bathroom door before it can shut, letting fall closed behind him. 

“Lock the door, would you?” Jared asks, shooting Jensen a smile so fake and sweet that it practically drips sarcasm.

Jensen turns around and locks the door to the bathroom before he can do something utterly stupid—like put his fist through that mocking smile. When he turns around, the guy is looking at Jensen, arms still wrapped around Jared.

“Um, Jared… who’s that?” The guy looks a little bothered by the prospect of Jensen being there.

Good.

“Justin, meet Jensen, my bodyguard,” Jared explains. “It’s cool,” Jared smiles when Justin looks concerned. “He can hear us from outside the door.” Jared pulls Justin into the stall and Jensen puts his hand on the door before Jared can close it.

“You wanna come in with us?” Jared asks with a hard grin, arms wrapped around Justin’s shoulders. He kisses Justin, tugging him in just before he raises one foot and kicks the door shut in Jensen’s face.

Jensen turns away from the door with deep breath and folds his together in front of him. This shouldn’t bother him-- _isn’t_ going to bother him. What happened yesterday was another mistake. It’s not like it meant anything. It’s got nothing to do with the job.

Jared’s less than five feet away from him and he can hear everything in case anything goes wrong—God, he can hear _everything_ \--

Jared is moaning, making obscene noises that echo hollowly off the tiled walls. There’s the rustling sound of jackets being shed, the metallic grind of one zipper opening, then another. Jensen can see himself, see the stall door reflected in the mirror over the bathroom sinks. Can see Jared’s hands gripping the side of the stall, fingers curling around the outside, see Justin’s hands slide on top of Jared’s, pinning his hands there and holding him. 

Jensen looks away quickly towards the door. Shaky gasps of breath, panting hard, and Jensen can imagine what’s happening all too well; Jared pushed against the wall, Justin pressed up behind him, hips rubbing, grinding against Jared’s bare ass. Jared lets out a sharp cry of pleasure, and Jensen can hear the stall creak, weight of two bodies rocking into it, Justin hissing in a breath, breathing out the word _fuck_.

Jensen grits his teeth together, hands clasped so hard he feels like he’s crushing them. The stall is creaking with the rhythm of their bodies moving, and Jensen can hear _everything_ , the tiniest breath and whispered words, the sound of their skin slapping. Jared gets even _louder_ , moaning, groaning, like a fucking _porn star_. 

Jensen spins around, grabbing the top of the stall door loosely with one hand and brings up his foot, kicking out with his heel hard enough to break the hold of the lock. He grabs the door tight before it can fly in and hit them and pushes it open.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Justin is pulling away from Jared, tucking himself back inside his pants. Jensen can see the back of Jared’s neck, teeth marks sunk deep and red into the skin, hair pulled into a messy knot where Justin was holding him.

“Get out,” Jensen tells Justin. When Justin hesitates, Jensen grabs him by the front of his shirt and hauls him out of the stall, dragging him to the bathroom door. He turns the lock, yanks it open and shoves Justin into the hallway. Justin’s still standing there looking completely shocked when Jensen slams the door shut and turns the lock again.

Jared’s coming out of the stall when Jensen turns, and he’s shirtless, pants just tugged up around his hips, not even zipped yet, smug, self-satisfied smirk curling his mouth.

“Something wrong?”

Those bruises, ringing his throat, scattered across his chest—Jensen’s marks all over him, and he’s standing there taunting him, half-fucked by someone else.

“You’re just begging to be put in your place, aren’t you?” Jensen takes two quick steps and closes a hand around Jared’s throat, pushing him against the far wall. 

Jared hits the wall with a thump, air going out of his lungs, Jensen’s weight shoved up against him. “You didn’t want me--”

Jensen tightens his hand, pushing his face into Jared’s. “So you’re going to fuck everyone else that does?”

“Don’t tell me you care?” Jared smirks, yanking his chin up.

“I don’t share well,” Jensen growls, mouth slamming into Jared’s. Their lips collide with bruising impact, teeth rattling, Jensen running a hand up into Jared’s hair and yanking his head back. Jared freezes for a split second in surprise and then his mouth opens wide with a hungry, eager noise, hands coming up to grip Jensen’s face as their tongues tangle together, circling, fighting. Jared’s shoving into him so hard that it’s taking all Jensen’s strength to keep him pinned there, pushing into the kiss so hard that Jensen thinks his jaw is going to crack with the force between them. Jensen snarls, teeth tugging viciously at Jared’s lower lip as he shoves Jared’s pants down.

This is crazy. Jensen doesn’t know what he’s doing and he doesn’t _care_. He takes his hand from Jared’s throat and thrusts it in his back pants pocket, yanking the condom packet out. He spins Jared around by the shoulders and shoves him against the wall again, opens his zipper and gets his hand around his cock and pulls it through his boxers. He rolls the condom on as fast he can manage, watching Jared arch and writhe against the wall.

“Pushing your ass out, practically begging for it.” Jensen presses two fingers against Jared’s hole and they slide in like pushing into melted butter, Jared closing around him, so hot and wet. “All lubed and fucked open already. Such a slut.” Jared’s moaning, twisting on the ends of his fingers as he curls them, and then he tugs them free, spitting into the palm of his hand.

He slicks his cock and pushes against Jared, feels Jared open for him, rim closing tight around the head as Jared shivers. “You wanna get fucked against the bathroom wall like a fucking slut?” Jensen asks, voice a low, deadly whisper against Jared’s ear. “Maybe I should get Justin back in here…” one hand pressed against the back of Jared’s neck, other grabbing a handful of his hair, “so he can see…” shoving up from the balls of his feet, “how it’s…” twisting his hips with savage force as he slams home, “done.” 

Jared jolts against the wall, fingernails scraping over tile as he cries out, whole body seizing.

Jensen curls his hips under, thrusting another half inch deeper just to hear Jared gasp, feel him shudder, muscles fluttering around Jensen’s cock. 

“Pushing me like that… whoring yourself out… what the fuck did you _think_ would happen?” Jensen yanks his hips back, slams into Jared hard, and God, the feel of him, exquisitely hot and tight, muscles in his back rippling against Jensen’s chest, the tiny gasp of breath that escapes him, head tilting against the wall, tugging against Jensen’s hand.

“I was hoping…” Jared whispers, turning his face against the tile, “something like _this_.” He shoves his head back into Jensen’s hand, neck twisting, strands pulling thick and hard through Jensen’s fist as Jared rocks back into Jensen’s cock.

“I bet you were, you fucking slut.” Jensen slides out, then drives deep again, leaning his cheek against the back of Jared’s neck, mouth opening against the hot, slick skin, lips sliding across muscle and bone before he bites down, fucks into Jared even harder. He gets his other hand around the back of Jared’s neck, fingers sliding around the slick skin, seeking out the ring of yellow bruises there. He digs his fingertips into the marks, feels Jared hiss with the slight pain, twist and buck against him, groaning out his name. He closes his mouth on the back of Jared’s neck again, fingers digging deeper— _his_ marks, and he can do whatever he wants with them because they belong to _him_. 

“You’re already _mine_ , Jared,” Jensen hisses out the words, with another savage thrust, fingers squeezing deep in Jared’s hair and throat, holding him, bodies pressed so tight together. “And. I. Don’t. Share.” He punctuates each word with vicious thrusts of his cock. “You should’ve... known better… than to push me like this.”

“God…” Jared’s voice is cracked, broken, like he can barely speak. “Wanted you...” Jared moans, shuddering under the assault. “Didn’t… want... anyone else.”

“I was trying to do my job,” Jensen breathes, mouth sliding up Jared’s back, teeth closing over the skin between his spine and his skull. “And then you just _had_ to go fuck someone else… you manipulative little fucking shit.”

Jared shudders, twisting into the grip of Jensen’s hands and mouth on him. “But now we both get what we want,” he whispers.

“What we want,” Jensen breathes, shaking his head. “Isn’t what we should be doing.”

“Too late,” Jared whispers, turning his head, catching at Jensen’s mouth with a hot, wet drag of his lips.

“Too late,” Jensen agrees, mouth closing over Jared’s as he shoves, fucking Jared into the wall so hard that his whole body reverberates. Jared’s mouth is bittersweet victory and loss all at once, tongues striking, sliding against each other, fighting and thrusting. Jensen has to pull away from the taste of him, from the desperation between them. “You think you’ve won…” he gasps, hands tightening against Jared, “getting me to give in. You don’t know the box you’ve opened, Jared.” Jensen bites at the line of Jared’s jaw, tongue flashing across the skin, scratch of stubble catching. “I don’t forgive. I don’t forget. And I don’t…” teeth pulling against skin, cock slamming deep and hard, “do _anything_ ,” hips twisting, corkscrewing Jared against the wall, “halfway.”

“God.” Jared twitches helplessly against him, body arching, taking him, squeezing tight around his cock. “Want you… _exactly_ … like fucking _this_.”

“You’d better,” Jensen breathes, shuddering against Jared’s body, hips shoving forward, up and in. “Be ready,” hands slipping, nails catching against Jared’s skin, “to deal with it.”

“Want it. Want _you_ ,” Jared gasps, words a strangled moan, whole body shaking. “Harder. More. Everything.”

Fuck. 

Jesus fucking _Christ_.

Jensen pushes a hand into Jared’s hair, yanking his head to the side, words mouthed against Jared’s cheek. “You want it all, Jared?” Hips sliding, thrusting deep, holding, hand curling, twisting in Jared’s hair. “You have no fucking idea.” 

“Show me,” Jared grates, shoving his head back into Jensen’s grip, hands pushing off the wall, ass grinding into Jensen’s cock. 

Jensen shoves him against the wall, hands and hips and cock, teeth sinking into Jared’s throat. Body splayed against the tile, palms twitching uselessly against it, mouth open, dragging over porcelain, body writhing, taking everything. 

“Yeah. Give it to me… fuck.” Spine arching to take Jensen even deeper, velvet clench of his ass so fucking sweet, and Jensen grips him by the hips, holds him against the wall, chest pinning Jared’s upper body. He angles his hips down and slams up into Jared, both their bodies jolting with the force of it, again and again until he’s drilling into Jared, both of them shaking, almost vibrating.

“Oh…my…God.” Jared’s voice is mangled, words pushed out in hard breaths in time with Jensen’s thrusts. God…Jared … palms skidding against the tile, body arching and pushing back into Jensen as much as he can, muscles standing out like cords in his neck, begging for it, _loving_ it, and Jensen is going to lose his fucking mind. Whole body drenched in sweat, every muscle straining, tight heat in his belly pushed right to the edge, and Jared’s head snaps back, eyes and mouth wide open, glazed and bruised and Christ. 

“So… hot,” he growls, fucking Jared even _harder_ , hands slipping in the sweat on Jared’s hips, slamming and shoving, grinding him ruthlessly into the wall, mouth falling against Jared’s, lips and teeth clashing. Jared can’t even kiss him, lost in the assault, and Jensen licks the inside of his mouth, tongue flashing, tasting every inch, hand sliding around Jared’s stomach, arm crushing him close, holding him still, snapping his hips like punishment. Jared moans into his mouth, strangled sound cutting off with a whimper, body clenching down around Jensen’s dick, and God, fuck, it’s so good--tight, hot ass gripping his cock, Jared’s huge body completely pliant, falling back against him, getting so thoroughly fucked.

Jensen tears his mouth away, Jared twisting his face to look at him, mouth pink and swollen and slack, and it’s too hot, too much. “Killing… me,” Jensen rasps. 

“Make me… want to die,” Jared moans back, hands flying from the wall, reaching around to grab Jensen by the waist. Jensen’s hips bounce off Jared, fucking him so hard he thinks he might explode with the force.

“Jensen.” The sound of his name, barely coherent, ragged whisper, a sound of finality in it that hits him deep in the gut and goes straight to his bones, his cock. Jared wanting, trusting, needing, arching on the end of his dick, and the look in his eyes—

Jensen pushes up off his heels, sliding deep, shivers threading deep through his spine, clawing through his belly, cock going rock hard as he comes buried inside Jared’s ass, teeth seizing in Jared’s shoulder. Hand sliding lower, fingers wrapping around Jared’s dick, slamming, grinding him into the wall, into his hand, knuckles crushed against the tile, and he can’t even feel it, can’t feel anything except Jared all around him, taste of him in his mouth, every nerve exploding, hot waves of pleasure ripping through him mind to gut to cock and destroying everything in their way.

Jared clamps down on him even harder, squeezing his dick so tight that it almost _hurts_ , slickness covering his fist , faint taste of copper on his tongue as he comes so hard he goes blind, world whiting out and tilting sideways, thrusting, ramming, fucking on pure, animal instinct. 

When he finally comes back down, his heart is still thundering in his ears, every nerve in his body thrumming, Jared twitching and moaning against him, cock twitching weakly into Jensen’s hand, softening, spent and sticky. They’re both breathing like they just ran an Olympic race, Jared’s heart pounding through his back against Jensen’s chest.

“My fucking God,” Jared breathes, heaving out the words. 

“You asked for it,” Jensen tells him.

Jared’s body is relaxed against him, spine molded to Jensen’s chest, his belly, fitting to him like a glove. “You’re not leaving this time?”

“No.” Jensen shakes his head, cheek sliding wet and slick against Jared’s. “Not leaving.”

Jared pulls in a long, slow breath, lungs filling, his back pushing into Jensen’s chest. “So what now?”

Jensen doesn’t know. Hell, he doesn’t have a clue how he even ended up here. All he knows is that he just fucked Jared senseless and blew his own mind in the process; that this is dangerous and he can’t seem to fucking help himself. He doesn’t have the answer Jared wants, and he’s not entirely sure Jared should trust him like he’s some kind of authority on the matter.

But he does have the only answer he can give.

“Now we clean up and get you home.”

 

Jared’s still feeling a little weak in the knees, hands shaking as he puts himself back together. He’s sore, fucked out and sated, and Jensen is still here, tucking in his shirt, buttoning up his coat, waiting for his turn at the sink and some modicum of a chance at putting his hair back into place. Jensen’s still sweaty, hair pulled up into messy spikes, even more gorgeous than ever, and Jared runs a wet hand through his hair, water rushing into the sink, his eyes fixed on Jensen in the mirror.

They’re quiet all the way to the car, and Chad raises a brow at Jared in silent question. Jensen doesn’t push all the way against the car door, and Jared doesn’t either, but there’s still enough space between them for another person on the seat. The silence isn’t quite as uncomfortable as it could be, and that’s saying something, but it’s not companionable, either.

Jensen follows him to his room, and every step Jared takes winds him a little tighter, stomach twisting and fluttering. He has no idea what’s going to happen when he opens the door. As he turns the knob, familiar scent and sense of home washing over him, it seems right, somehow, that Jensen should be here. 

Jensen closes the door behind them, and Jared knows what he’s going to say then, no thought given to it at all. He turns around, and Jensen hesitates, looking up at him questioningly. Guilt, concern; Jared can see it written in every tense line of Jensen’s face, and that he can see it at all is a wonder. He isn’t sure if he’s gotten so good at reading Jensen that he can see it, or if Jensen’s just gotten worse at hiding it. 

Jared takes a step closer to him. “You should stay here,” he says, voice low. 

Jensen doesn’t move, doesn’t appear to _breathe_.

“I’d be safer with you in the room,” he adds, with a hint of a smile.

Jensen blinks once, expression not changing, and then—Jared can _see_ the way he stiffens, whole body drawing tight.

“Or…” Jared offers, suddenly annoyed. “You could go back to being a cold bastard.”

“Jared.” Jensen’s never called him by name except while they’re fucking, and that he’s doing it now should be cause for celebration. Instead, the tone of Jensen’s voice makes the light flutter in his stomach smooth out and turn hard.

“I can’t stay here. If I did…” Jensen trails off, and Jared’s one-hundred percent sure that Jensen’s not the kind of person who lets his sentences trail off unfinished. He’s the kind of man who always knows exactly what he wants to say, and if he doesn’t right now, then…

“Jensen,” he whispers out, stepping even closer.

“I can’t.” Jensen takes a step back and meets Jared’s gaze. “I can’t get comfortable here. The second I do, I’ll slip and miss something important.” 

Jared thinks the words sound almost like an apology, but that doesn’t take the sting from them. “Right,” Jared nods, swallowing hard, jaw firming. The taste in his throat is bitter, burning as he snaps out the words. “Just about the job then. And the occasional fuck.”

Jensen is silent for a long moment, just staring at Jared. There’s a hesitation in him, green eyes searching Jared’s. “What else do you want from me?” 

There’s an odd note to his voice, but Jared could give a damn about figuring it out right now, because— _What else does he want?_ He just asked Jensen to spend the night in his bed—and he’s very sure they _both_ know that has nothing to do with sex, because fuck, Jared probably couldn’t go again after that even if he wanted to, and he’s pretty sure Jensen can’t either. But then, he’s pretty sure Jensen already knows all of that, and that speaks for itself. 

Jared huffs out a bitter breath that isn’t quite a laugh. He doesn’t know what the fuck he was thinking. That things might be different now? “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. 

Jensen looks at him for a moment that seems like forever, lips pressing together thoughtfully, like he might have something else to say. He finally looks away from Jared and nods once. “Then I’ll just finish up here.”

“Yeah,” Jared snorts. “Great.” 

Jared moves back out of Jensen’s way and lets him do his fucking job.

 

When Jensen’s done, Jared lets him go, doesn’t even look over when Jensen leaves, though he’s sure he can feel Jensen looking at him just before the door closes. He doesn’t bother to shower, too tired to go through the routine, stripping and climbing into bed with the salt of sweat still heavy on his skin.

He pushed Jensen hard tonight, with every intention of pissing him off, and he hadn’t expected for a single moment that it would actually _work_. But it did, and that should mean something, he should feel some sense of victory, shouldn’t he? But all he feels is sore everywhere, raw and worn out and empty. 

Jared sighs, tosses and turns over in bed, fist thumping the pillow into a shape that doesn’t quite hold his face the way he wishes it would when he slams his cheek down. 

That note in Jensen’s voice… _What else do you want from me?_. Curiosity? Is that what it was? 

What else _does_ he want from Jensen anyway? And if he does want something more, how exactly is that going to work? He can’t stand Jensen most of the time. Jensen doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. Jensen hates him, thinks Jared’s a Hollywood-spoiled shithead, and… and…

And maybe Jared hasn’t done a whole lot to disabuse Jensen of that notion.

He lies there in the dark thinking about that, moonlight streaming in through the blinds, cutting sharp blue lines against the shape of his body beneath the covers. 

He’s a movie star; there are very few people who’ve ever _wanted_ him to be more than a perfect, shiny, carefully pressed image. And the moments he’s ever let anything else shine through? It’s never turned out well. 

_So how’s it turning out for you now?_

He sucks in a breath, hisses it out through his teeth and flips over roughly onto his left side. If he hasn’t done much to convince Jensen that whatever the fuck this is might be worth it with him, then neither has Jensen.

_So that’s the excuse then?_

Jared sighs and rolls over, staring at the clock beside his bed. He’s got an early set call tomorrow, and it’s going to be another physically demanding scene, and he’s worn out and spread thin from weeks of hard shoots and appearances. This is not the time to be thinking about this. It’s all too messed up, and not worth it anyway.

But what about the way Jensen wanted to kick Jason’s ass for playing the fight too rough? Or the way Jensen had told him ‘You’re mine’ while he fucked him stupid?

Yeah. What about that?

Jared resigns himself to the fact that sleep is going to be a long time coming.

 

Jared is predictably tired in the morning, and not nearly as angry at Jensen as he wishes he was. They ride to the set in mutual silence, and there’s a different quality to it this time. Jared’s not pissed, though he’s sure he ought to be—he just doesn’t know what else to say… and maybe Jensen doesn’t either. 

The shoot goes well for the first part of the day, and at least Jared isn’t half submerged in water or getting thrown around this time. This scene involves a lot of physicality on Jared’s part, though, and by the time Peter calls cut for lunch at 2 p.m., he’s beyond ready for a nap. Even an hour’s sleep will help him get through the rest of the day better.

Jensen walks with him to his trailer without a word, speaking to the security guards outside the door momentarily before he opens the door and goes in first.

It’s routine by now, and Jared knows it’ll be another few minutes, at least, before he can sleep. Jensen’s already checking things out as they walk in, Jared trailing behind him, trying to hold on to his patience. They’re almost to the bed when Jensen stops moving, the sudden stillness in him snapping Jared out of his haze.

“Jared.” Jensen’s tone is deathly quiet, and it’s just his name, but some part of him understands instinctively what it means, and he goes still, barely breathing.

“What?” The word is breathless, scarcely there, but it hangs on the air between them in the sudden silence. Jensen’s not looking at him, eyes focused on the bed, and Jared follows his gaze.

His pillow is clean, bright white, fluffed and perfect, thick comforter folded over just beneath it. There’s a note lying in the center of it; plain paper with letters carefully cut from rough newspapers and slick magazines, their innards spilled out across the page into words.

It’s… that’s… Someone’s on set is just _fucking_ with him, that’s all, and when he finds out who, he’s going to string them up by their balls.

Jared takes a breath, about to step forward and snatch it from the bed when Jensen speaks again.

“Don’t. Move.”

“This is bullshit, Jensen,” he hisses, hands shaking before they clench into fists. “Some stupid asshole on set, fucking with me.”

Jensen silences him with a single glance, so much heat in his gaze that Jared’s momentarily stunned. He watches as Jensen half-kneels, eyes and fingers feeling out each step before he shuffles forward, settling his weight, and this is ridiculous, completely stupid, because—

“You move… and I’ll knock you unconscious,” Jensen hisses without looking at him, fingers crawling slowly forward across the floor. He leans forward across his knees, tilts his head against the floor, ear nearly lying parallel with the carpet, fingers searching a bare inch at a time. “No wires here,” he finally whispers, voice hushed. “Not here. But if they’re underneath the trailer…”

“We’re both dead,” Jared finishes. “But they _aren’t_ underneath the trailer. No one’s trying to kill me.”

“If they got into your room… We could be on a pressure plate right now,” Jensen tells him, hard edge to the words. “Either one of us moves, the equilibrium upsets.”

Jensen is… being thorough, Jared allows, annoyed, but he’s still _wrong_.

“You really think that’s possible?”

Jensen shakes his head, and without moving the rest of his body at all, he reaches under his jacket into his pants pocket. He pulls out a mag-lite and twists the rim with his thumb and forefinger. The light flicks on, and Jensen presses his head even closer to the floor.

“No,” Jensen answers, chin tilting up as he sweeps the light underneath the bed frame. “This person doesn’t want to blow you up, Jared. That would be too quick, too painless. They want you to suffer, up close and personal.” Jensen sounds so sure of that that Jared feels the words chill through him. “I’m sure we’re not standing on a pressure plate—but we _could_ be. I’m sure there’s nothing wired to the note on your pillow—but there _could_ be. I can’t afford to rule out someone on a professional contract.”

Jared blinks, the words sinking in. “Professional contract?”

“Yes,” Jensen answers, sounding irritated by the question. “A contract on your life.”

“Who the _fuck_ would want to take out a contract on my life?”

“Anyone who’s ever met you,” Jensen answers, expression on his face not changing a bit.

Asshole. “This is ridiculous,” Jared hisses, fed up with the situation. He shoves away the feeling Jensen instills in him—it’s all just unfounded fear anyway—and leans down towards the bed in a quick motion, hands closing around the note.

Jensen’s on his feet in a moment, movement so fast that Jared doesn’t register it before Jensen’s right there, in his face, fingers clasped around his wrists. “Lucky for you, there’s no wire under the bed,” Jensen tells him, nostrils flaring. “But you didn’t know that. And if there _was_ a pressure plate? You just tipped it. You fucking _moron_.” Jensen’s eyes are furious, flashing anger, and Jared yanks away from him, paper crinkling between his hands.

“Of course there wasn’t,” he scoffs, turning away towards the bed. “Because no one is trying to kill--”

Jared breaks off the words with a snap, jaw closing as he catches sight of the expanse of pillow beneath the letter. Clean white, fluffed and filled with down, perfect in every way save the two concise bullet holes shot straight through the surface. They’re charred black at the edges, singed feathers curling around the circumference. 

His lungs stutter in his chest, heart skipping a beat. His eyes fall to the letter in his hands, reading the misshapen, tilted letters.

_“Sleep well, whore.”_

“Security,” Jensen snaps, louder and angrier than Jared’s ever heard him. “Mr. Padalecki’s trailer. Post. _Now_.”

Okay. Okay. There are real bullets on the set. There has to be, for scenes where they load the guns. But none of those guns are _real_. They’re harmless props, and even then, the prop person takes them away before the rest of the scene happens. They take the bullets and catalog them back into inventory. Jared’s only ever held a real gun on the firing range.

No one on this set loaded a real gun and fired it into his pillow. Not even as a joke.

“Jensen…” he breathes, looking up, fingers clenching around the note.

Jensen spins on him, grabbing him by the chin. “You fall apart on me now and I will kick your _ass_. Understood?”

Jared’s jaw is still open, flopping dumbly.

“You can freak out later,” Jensen promises him, voice dropping a notch. “Just stay with me right now. There’s a lot I have to do.” His eyes are fierce, intense, golden flecks caught in them like fire, staring into Jared and demanding an answer.

“Okay.” Jared breathes out the word, voice shaking.

Jensen raises his brows at Jared, eyes narrowing. He doesn’t believe Jared, and Jared isn’t sure he believes himself, and that gets his heart pumping again, blood warming as a thin thread of annoyance starts to wind its way through the shock flooding him.

“I said _okay_ ,” he repeats, more firmly this time as he pulls back from Jensen’s grasp. Jensen just looks at him for a moment, like he’s assessing Jared, debating his answer. Then he lets go of Jared’s face, reaching out and taking the note carefully from Jared’s hands.

“I need you outside now. This is a crime scene.”

Jared nods and follows him out the door, feeling numb.

Once he’s there in the bright sunshine of mid-afternoon, it all starts to feel even more surreal. There’s a chair set off to one side of the trailer, and Jensen directs him toward it. Jared’s knees give a little, and he sinks back into the chair gratefully, glad for its support. Jensen on the other hand, flies into action, snapping commands, demanding answers to questions. The words blur and spin past Jared, but he’s aware enough to see that by the time Jensen is done, security is a chastened mess, each and every one of them wearing expressions wrought with worry and guilt as they move to carry out his commands. They scatter like dust when Jensen finishes, and then it’s just the two of them for a moment.

Jensen kneels down in front of him, one knee pressing into the sparse grass as he meets Jared’s eyes. “The police are on their way. They’re going to need to talk to you.” There’s a question in the words, though Jensen’s not actually asking him, and Jared gets it, nodding once. There’s still more procedure to get through, and Jensen needs to know if Jared can do it.

“I can handle it.”

“Security is getting the video feeds from outside your trailer for me now,” Jensen goes on. “I’ll figure out what happened and make damned sure it doesn’t happen again.” Jensen hesitates a moment, a muscle working in his jaw, and then he gets to his feet.

Jensen stands there a moment longer, weight shifting from one foot to the other, and Jared’s brain doesn’t have a hope in hell of catching up enough to manage a response before Jensen turns and walks a few feet away, calling someone else on his earpiece.

 

Jensen clicks off the radio in his ear. He’s talked to everyone now, everything has been set in motion, the police will be here shortly, and shortly after that he’ll have the security recordings he needs to study. This means, he thinks as his eyes turn back towards Jared, that there’s nothing else to do right now.

He needs to keep moving. He’s always been good as long as he keeps moving; it was in the military that he learned the art of being at rest, when the long minutes stretch into hours and there’s nothing to do but wait. He’s good at both of those things. The problem is, now, the second he stops, even for a moment, his thoughts turn immediately to Jared. Right now, Jared is neither action nor waiting, and that leaves Jensen at a bit of a loss. Not to mention that the carefully-suppressed emotional half of Jensen is waiting patiently to drop a landslide of guilt on him the second he doesn’t have to be vigilant anymore, and he’s well aware of it.

This shouldn’t have happened. 

Yes. He’ll deal with that _later_. Just like he’ll deal with all the other emotions waiting on the other side of that drop when they come.

As far as he can tell, Jared hasn’t called anyone—probably still too much in shock—and Jared needs someone to be there with him. Jensen’s here physically, but Jared needs someone to talk to; someone who can afford to let Jared lean on them emotionally, because—

God dammit.

He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and starts typing in Chad’s name. Once Chad’s on his way over, Jensen brings lot security online again and informs them of Mr. Murray’s presence on set.

“Jared.” He kneels down in front of Jared again. “Chad’s on his way.” His fingers twitch, and for an instant, he’s seized by the urge to rest his hands over Jared’s; comfort, warmth, skin. He doesn’t… he can’t do that.

 _\--“Yes you can.” Warm hand over his, pushing his palm against smooth skin.--_

He curls his hand into a fist and gets to his feet, walking a few paces away.

When Chad gets there, he walks straight to Jared, doesn’t even give Jensen a glance, and Jensen walks even further away, turns and watches Chad sit down cross-legged in the dirt in front of Jared’s chair, lighting up a cigarette and settling in like he’s pitched camp. He reaches out with an ease that speaks of familiarity, patting Jared on the knee as he exhales smoke and moves his mouth in words that Jensen can’t hear and deliberately doesn’t try to read. Jared says something back, and Chad tilts his head to the side, and Jensen knows without even looking at Chad’s mouth that he’s asking “Seriously?” in that incredulous tone of voice Jensen’s come to know quite well. Jared replies and Chad says something that finally makes Jared crack a smile, and that’s when Jensen looks away.

Jared’s got what he needs, and Jensen can hear sirens in the distance, drawing closer. 

He’s still got work to do.

 

The policemen are nice enough, and it’s kind of a blur, telling them what happened. Jared’s dimly aware of Chad standing on his right side, and Jensen standing just to the left as he speaks.

After they’re gone, Jared’s sure he still hasn’t processed it all. The moment where he could have freaked out has passed now. This is one of those things he’s going to look back on from time to time later in life and think, “That really happened”, but he’s pretty sure the full impact is never going to hit him. It’s never going to seem _real_.

Except for the way the whole thing wedges an icicle of fear into his heart, blood pumping around the chill.

The rest of the day’s shoot is cancelled, as is tomorrow’s call, and there’s nothing to do but go home.

Jensen is there beside him through every step, from the trailer to the house. Silent, comforting presence that’s close, but not quite close enough. Jensen checks his room thoroughly—so thoroughly that Jared almost says something, but he doesn’t.

When Jensen’s done, he turns and walks up to Jared, standing there quietly for a moment. He opens his mouth, about to say something, and then hesitates.

“Jensen. What?”

“Nothing.” Jensen shakes his head, eyes regaining their focus. “Everything is fine. Chad’s going to stay with you,” Jensen tells him. “Mr. Bennet and Mr. Owen will be right outside. And if you need me…” Jensen reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out something small. Jared holds out his hand, and Jensen presses a piece of plastic against his palm.

“An earpiece?”

“Radio earpiece, tuned to a channel with a special opening sound,” Jensen nods. “You don’t even have to speak. Just push on it, like this,” Jensen hand closes around his for a moment, his thumb sliding over Jared’s and pushing down. “And I’ll hear you.”

Jensen’s hand slips away and Jared just stares at him. “How long have you had this?”

“Since the first day I got here.”

“Why didn’t you give it to me before?”

“Would you have taken it?” Jensen asks, brows rising, hands sliding into suit pants pockets.

Jared is silent for a moment, muscle working in his jaw, mouth quirking in a cynical pull as he nods.

“Jared…” Jensen says, and then hesitates. He’s not quite looking at Jared’s face, looking just over Jared’s left shoulder. Finally he takes a breath like he’s making some kind of decision and then pulls himself to his full height, looking Jared right in the eye.

“Are you okay?” Jensen asks, and for a moment, Jensen’s _really_ looking at him, eyes narrowing with concern and scrutiny and...

God. Is that _caring_?

Is he okay? He was until just now.

“Yeah,” he manages.

“Good.”

He just stands there for a moment, and Jared is suddenly conscious of how close Jensen is to him; of exactly how little he’d have move to lean in and kiss his mouth. “I want to thank you,” Jared says, voice dropping to a near-whisper, “for being there today.”

Jensen’s eyes flash dark for an instant, and Jared’s left breathless. It’s not exactly want, something fiercer and hotter shining through. It’s gone in a second, Jensen nodding once and breaking the look between them.

“I need to get to work.”

Jared watches Jensen turn and open the door, and Jensen glances back once—just a quick meeting of their eyes—nodding goodbye.

Jared’s still standing there with the radio earpiece in his hand, staring at the shut door when it opens again and Chad comes walking through it.

“So look. I brought gin and vodka and rum,” Chad says, holding up a bag.

“And?” Jared asks, summoning a smile.

Chad sighs as if incredibly put upon, yanking up his sleeve and looking at his bare wrist. “The strippers _would_ have been here any minute now, if I thought Jensen would let that happen.” 

Jared slides the earpiece into his pants pocket. “Somehow,” he says, biting back the urge to laugh, “we’ll manage without them.”

 

Everything inside Jensen tells him that he shouldn’t be leaving Jared alone right now, and despite the fact that Chad is with Jared and there are two security guards posted outside the door, Jensen is still convinced that he’s leaving Jared alone, unprotected. The sentiment behind that thought is exactly what’s troubling him.

_“I want to thank you… for being there today.”_

Jensen didn’t do nearly enough, and not even close to what he’d wanted to do. 

Later. Save it for later.

Jensen can still feel the warmth of Jared’s skin where it pressed against his hand as he walks down the hallway. He shakes his fingers out from the wrist, trying to dislodge the feeling. 

He needs to keep moving.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

It’s been hours. Hours and hours since Jensen left, and Jared is slightly drunk. He loves Chad, loves his company, but Chad has this way of getting right inside his head that’s normally very comforting, and would be, under any other circumstances. 

“So what’s your fucking deal with this guy anyway?” Chad asks, lighting another cigarette. “Drying paint is more interesting. Seriously. And still, half the time, I can’t tell if you want to hit him or fuck him. What is that about?” Chad’s brows rise above his eyes, sucking on his cigarette as he looks at Jared expectantly.

Jared shrugs, letting the question slide, tilting his head to the side. “He’s hot. In case you hadn’t noticed, which you probably didn’t, since you’re straight.”

“Oh, I noticed. You don’t have to be _gay_ to know how hot a guy is compared to you.” Chad shrugs, plucking the cigarette from his mouth, hand extending in a grand gesture, smoke punctuating the words. “But is that enough? I mean, hot is a nice bonus, but as far as I can see, there’s nothing to add the bonus to, know what I’m saying? I mean,” Chad goes on, moving his hand in a circle, smoke trailing behind, “this guy thinks Charlie’s hiding out in the potted plants. Not a whole lot of romance there.”

Jared bites his lower lip, smiling despite himself.

“Unless you’re into that,” Chad adds, narrowing his eyes on Jared.

Chad’s too shrewd. Too smart and too quick on the uptake, and Jared’s slow on pretending right now. Chad whistles out a low sound and shakes his head. “Getting close to that kind of crazy? I don’t envy you, dude.” He looks at Jared like Jared’s doomed to some kind of unimaginable hell.

“There’s more to him than that,” Jared protests.

“Yeah?” Chad leans back, brows rising in challenge. “Like what?”

Jared thinks for a moment, starts to speak and closes his mouth, and Chad shakes his head like this is unacceptable. “Nah, dude. You don’t get off that easy. Not after saying that.”

“He called you today, didn’t he?” Jared demands, chin rising.

Chad thinks about that, nodding slowly and exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Yeah. He did. Probably because he couldn’t deal with it. He needed someone else to step in.”

“He couldn’t deal with it because he had a job to do.” The words leap to Jared’s lips like they’ve always been there, though he’s never thought about them before this very moment.

“Your ability to live in denial astounds even _me_ ,” Chad says with a sage nod. “It’s no wonder you win awards.”

“Fuck you, Chad.”

“That was a compliment,” Chad adds, leaning closer, blowing out a last lungful of smoke before he throws his cigarette butt into an empty beer can. “Look, dude.” Chad opens his arms, sitting back against the pillows on Jared’s bed. “You wanna romanticize this shit? Be my guest. But at the end of the day? If he’s as much of an asshole as I think he is? If he fucks you over like I think he will? Then I’m gonna find a way to kill him, ninja or not.” Chad shrugs, nonchalant. “And then I’ll say I told you so.”

“Whatever.” Jared rolls his eyes. “Just like you told me I was bi and not gay, right?”

Chad grins, folding his arms and lolling one shoulder. “That was a miscalculation, not a mistake.”

Jared shakes his head incredulously. “How do you even get out of bed in the morning?”

“Easily, my brother,” Chad smiles. He leans forward, hand resting on Jared’s forearm, still smirking as he speaks to Jared like he’s telling a precious secret. “Because I’m the kind of guy that when I wake up?” Chad chuckles. “The devil says, ‘SHIT. He’s awake’.”

Jared can’t do anything besides laugh, and Chad leans back against the pillows like he’s king of the world.

“The sex must be really amazing if you’re getting this worked up over him,” Chad says, shaking his head.

“It’s more than sex,” Jared says after a moment. 

There’s a sharp rap on the door that Jared recognizes instantly as being Jensen’s. “Speaking of the devil,” he says, getting to his feet. Jared can feel something in his chest loosen as he walks to the door, like the relief of a weight being released.

Jared opens the door with a faint smile that dies the second he sees Jensen’s face. 

“See ya, Jared.” Chad claps him on the back on his way out of the room, walking around Jensen as Jensen steps inside.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” Jared asks the second he closes the door behind Chad.

“The situation has changed,” Jensen tells him. “Not only did this person get into your trailer while security was posted outside it, they also killed the power to the security cameras while they did it. Security detail posted outside your trailer door never heard a thing, which means the person also used a silencer to fire those shots.” Jensen shakes his head. “This person is definitely a professional. They were probably hired to scare you in the beginning… but they’re getting more serious now.”

Jensen hesitates a moment, drawing in a deep breath, and Jared stands there silently, just watching him.

“They made every attempt to make this seem personal, and I believed it. I made a mistake, Jared.” Beneath the smooth, careful cast of his face, Jared can see the regret; it’s there in his eyes, the faint creasing lines at the corners of them, the slight downturn at the edges of his mouth.

Jared shakes his head and almost laughs. “I didn’t believe I was in danger until today.”

“I know,” Jensen answers, quietly. “And happy as I am that you’re finally convinced, it shouldn’t have happened like this.”

Jared tilts his head to the side, looking at Jensen carefully. “Are you blaming yourself?”

Jensen’s expression goes taut, eyes narrowing. “I can’t control lot security completely. But I can’t blame them for this. They’re not trained for this. I should have realized this person was a professional.”

“Jensen…” Jared shakes his head. What is so fucked up in Jensen’s head that he could even think that? “What makes you think you should have seen this coming?”

Jensen straightens his shoulders and tilts his head back, jaw catching the light, eyes hard. 

“Because I’m a professional, too.”

The words hang there for a moment, and the implications… Jared can’t even begin to grasp them. He’s not even going to try to consider them, because—

“You’re nothing like this guy,” Jared tells him, shaking his head.

Jensen’s eyes narrow another fraction, hint of cynical smile tugging at his mouth. “You don’t think so?” The look on his face… God… it’s complete resignation; a knowing so deep and ingrained and inseparable from the man Jared sees every day that he wonders how he never saw it before. He doesn’t know exactly what Jensen’s referring to, but he knows what he thinks.

“No.” Jared says, foot sliding forward, closer to Jensen. “I don’t.” 

Jensen thrusts his face into Jared’s, eyes going cold. “The fact that I fucked you doesn’t mean I’m a good person, Jared. It _especially_ doesn’t mean I’m a good person. It means,” Jensen tells him in no uncertain terms, “the exact opposite.”

“That’s not why I think so,” Jared snaps.

Jensen blinks once, chin lifting defiantly in challenge. “Then tell me why.”

Jared is really good at coming up with lines on the fly; finding the emotional resonance of the moment and adding to it. He’s always been good at improv, but that’s on set for the cameras, for the sake of a story he already understands. He doesn’t have the words for this—he doesn’t know exactly _why_ , but he knows it’s true, and suddenly he’s pissed off at Jensen for making him question himself.

“I didn’t bring my notes with me,” he sneers. “Sorry, sir.”

Jensen lifts his chin just a millimeter higher and nods once, breathing out hard and fast through his nose. It’s not quite a snort, but it’s close enough, and if Jared didn’t know that already, the glimmer in Jensen’s eyes is more than enough to bring it home.

“That’s what I thought,” Jensen says, nodding again once, slowly.

Jared feels familiar anger simmering up in his chest, hot and quick and threatening to boil over. After all this time, Jensen is _still_ dismissing him.

“It wouldn’t matter what I said, would it?” Jared shoves forward into Jensen’s space, and Jensen moves back just as swiftly.

“Probably not.” Jensen nods, turning his face away, profile lost to shadow, body following behind.

Jared wills himself to stay where he is and watch Jensen go, words still echoing inside his mind as the door shuts.

_Probably not._

The words strike him differently in the silence, anger dying away.

 _Probably_ not. 

Whatever. Even if Jared did know what to say, Jensen still thinks he’s a Hollywood-boy shithead. He wouldn’t listen.

Would he?

Screw that. Jared’s tired of being the one to try. He’d thought things were changing, that Jensen was starting to care. No, he _knew_ Jensen was starting to care, he could see it, feel it. But every time they get close, Jensen runs away from him all over again. Jensen thinks he can keep running in and out of Jared’s life, and… and god dammit, he _can_. And Jared knows why. He cares. Much as he doesn’t want to. Stupid, charming, arrogant _asshole_ , and Jared… cares about him. If Jensen’s too stupid to see that, then to hell with him.

Except Jared can’t get Jensen out of his head, no matter what he does. Jensen’s under his skin, in his blood, driving him crazy. Jensen’s a maddening itch that he can’t quite scratch, and he wishes it would just go away. But it’s not going to—maybe not ever. Not until Jared tries his hardest to break through. But he doesn’t even know _what_ it is he’s fighting against inside Jensen. Obligation? Duty? Something else? Someone else? All of the above?

Okay, one fucking thing at a time. What was that about, just now?

_\--I’m a professional, too--_

The look on Jensen’s face… so cynical. But there’d been something else behind it, too. Something glimmering in those cold depths, like he was… 

_\--Then tell me why--_

Maybe. Just _maybe_ , Jensen was hoping Jared had an answer?

Jared doesn’t know jack shit about real Navy SEALs, but he knows Jensen was a sniper, and Jared knows damned well what a sniper does. He’s never let himself think about it in any _real_ way before, but he realizes, quite suddenly like he never has before, that Jensen killed people for a living. Had to pull the trigger and watch them die and know it was his doing.

The thought makes him sit down on the bed. Of course, Jensen did make the choice to join the military, to go for the SEAL team… but could he have had any real idea of what it would be like, the first time he had to kill someone? 

Jared takes a moment to absorb that. He can’t even imagine. He’s pretty sure, based on Jensen’s reaction tonight, that Jensen doesn’t love what he used to do. What must it have been like, being in the military and being commanded to kill people? Not even having a choice? What would that do to a person?

Make them hard and cold, maybe? Disassociate themselves from the people around them by keeping everything business-like? 

Jesus. _Do you think **maybe** , Jared?_

And what about him? Hasn’t he done the same thing, in a different way, for most of his life? How much has he let Jensen see the person who’s really underneath the shell? And if the very idea of showing Jensen makes him shrink away in fear… he can only imagine what it must feel like for Jensen.

And if Jared can’t even tell Jensen why he’s not like the person stalking Jared…

_How much do you care about him, Jared?_

Enough. Enough to know why he didn’t have the words to explain to Jensen earlier. It’s not the words… it’s what they mean, what they’d give away.

He thinks about that for a long moment, and then walks to his dresser, stripping out of his clothes. He slides on a pair of pajama pants, tank top pulled on as an afterthought. 

_\--Then tell me why--_

Maybe it’s way past time Jared did.

 

Jensen turns on the bathroom faucet and lets the water run cold through his cupped palms. Slowly, he turns the valve on his own emotional compartmentalization, and feels the weight of the day push in him. He’s been holding back all day, and even he can’t keep it bottled up forever—do that, and you lose your mind. It has to come out sometime, and it’s been leaking slowly ever since he went to Jared’s room. 

It’s not his own failure that hits him first, but that’s what he focuses on. He should have known, and even though he knows it’s a ridiculous thought, even though he knows there was nothing to point to a professional assassin, he can’t stop the feeling. He’s supposed to be one of the best. He was an assassin for six of his seven years in the military; he should be able to recognize the work of one.

He closes his eyes. This isn’t about his own failure—even he can’t pretend that’s all it is. That’s part of it, but the larger part was the terrified look on Jared’s face, the way Jensen had felt helpless to stop it. The rage he’d felt, how badly he’d wanted to find the killer and put a bullet through his head for scaring Jared like that.

He dips his face into his hands, cold water splashing through them, pressing the flow against his cheeks.

Jared will be fine. Jared was scared, terrified maybe, but it was just a blip in his otherwise perfect life. Jared’s built to gloss right over things like this. Two days from now he’ll be smiling and laughing and flirting with someone else like it never happened.

His fingers tighten against his face, and he pushes away from his hands, water scattering from his face across the mirror. It strikes him as grossly unfair. Because Jensen will never be able to forget how it made him feel, even if he seals the memory into a steel box marked “Do not open under any circumstances” and sends it all the way to compartmentalization hell. He can’t un-know it. And he can’t lie to himself anymore about what it means.

Jensen’s ready for bed a few minutes later, dressed in pajama pants and naked from the waist up when the knock comes on his bedroom door. 

He knows who it is—who it has to be, and he bites against his lower lip momentarily, considering not answering it. Having Jared in his room right now is not something he’s prepared to deal with. He made a mistake, he underestimated the enemy, and he can carry the fault of his own logic for that. He’s been trained and built to carry that. But what he can’t carry is knowing that he’s made a mistake because he’s allowed himself to get emotionally involved. He thinks maybe he can still prevent that from happening if he doesn’t answer the door.

_\--“Too late.”--_

Gritty voice pulled from the past, and he doesn’t want to think about what it means. He closes his eyes, jaw grinding, temple tensing. 

That knock on his door comes again, and his eyes snap open, fingers closing into loose fists. He was a Navy SEAL, for fuck’s sake, and he can’t answer a simple knock on his bedroom door? He reaches for the thin silk robe hanging on the hook outside the bathroom door—the one that came with the room—and shrugs into it, cinching the belt around his waist before he goes to open the door.

Jared isn’t dressed in anything except a thin, black muscle shirt that hugs every curve of his chest and a pair of black silk pajama pants that hang low on his hips. His skin is deeply tanned olive in the low lamp light of Jensen’s room, dark hair falling at an angle into his face as he tilts his head. He’s completely gorgeous, lower lip caught between perfect, even white teeth. 

Jensen swallows hard and steels himself against the image, waiting for Jared to say something.

“Let me in.”

So much conveyed in those three little words; invitation, temptation. Damnation. 

“It’s late,” Jensen tells him. “Go to bed.”

“I need to talk to you.” Jared tilts his head even further to the side, mouth working, brows drawing together between the lines of his long hair, and it pisses Jensen off. Jared can’t be doing this—not now. Jensen can get through the next five minutes, the next half an hour, as long as he’s got something else to _do_.

“About _what_?”

Jared leans against the door with his chest, one arm reaching out to stretch up the length, fingers curling over the top edge. “About what an asshole I am.”

Jensen just stares at him for long seconds, watching way Jared moves, body angling against the door like a work of art… 

“This should be good,” he mutters, stepping back from the doorway. This is a terrible idea; he knows that. And for better or worse, Jared walks inside, knob clicking softly as the door shuts behind him.

Jared doesn’t move far inside, just a step—and Jensen’s halfway across the room—but he moves with _intent_. Jared’s eyes roam the room for a moment, arms folding across his massive chest.

“I know what you think of me. And you’re not completely wrong.”

“You don’t know a goddamned thing about what I think,” Jensen says, shaking his head.

“Yes I do. You think I’m a Hollywood asshole, and I haven’t done much to make you think anything else.” Jared smiles faintly, almost bitterly, and takes another step closer to Jensen. 

“The world I live in… it’s nothing like yours.” Jared breathes out harshly with a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “Always having to be perfect, always having to be on, to smile bright for the cameras and tip up your glass—as long as you don’t drink too much. People want to see you, but only in the _way_ they want to see you.”

This is… this is not what Jensen expected.

“To most people, I’m a fantasy. And to the rest, I’m a franchise; the heir to the great Padalecki legacy. I was in advertising almost before I could crawl.” Jared steps to the side, turning slightly, profile caught in the dim light of the room. “When your parents are the reigning king and queen of Hollywood, people expect certain things of you,” he goes on. “They push their noses and cameras into your life before you can even talk, before you’re even old enough to understand what’s happening.” He shakes his head, hair falling forward into his face. “I’ve been in the spotlight since the moment I was born; I’m merchandising and marketing and money in the bank, and I got used to that a long time ago.” He turns again, facing Jensen, not quite looking at him. “I got used to playing a part.”

Jared takes a deep breath; Jensen can see his chest swell, rising and falling with something like resignation.

“It doesn’t pay to be deep in this town.” His eyes flick up to find Jensen’s, and Jensen blinks, startled by the depth in them. Jared moves closer as Jensen tries to breathe, and he can feel Jared’s fingers curl around his hip, fingers sinking deep, body pressing in.

“I have to be so fucking careful, all the time,” Jared breathes, thumb grazing the inside of Jensen’s hip. “And it makes me want to be reckless. Makes me act like an asshole.” Jared’s forehead brushes his, shaking slightly. “And you... you make me want to be all three.”

Jensen is mesmerized by the way his mouth moves, enthralled by the heat of his words, how close he is, and God, all he has to do is reach out, pull Jared a little closer—

Jensen yanks away from the touch, stepping back like Jared burned him. “You need to leave. Now.”

“No.” Jared moves on him slow and lazy like a lion, muscles rippling under his skin. “See, I’ve got you figured out. You keep trying to back off, but you can’t. And it’s not just because you want me,” Jared tells him, leaning closer to Jensen. “You could hold out against that.” His mouth is so close, words drawn out with warm breath across Jensen’s lips.

“You say you hate me…” Jared’s voice is a husky whisper, and this is so far from the boyish, Hollywood way Jared tried to hit on him that first night. “But that’s not what it feels like when you put your hands on me.”

It’s too close to the truth, close as Jared is right now, mouth a bare inch from Jensen’s.

Too close to the truth and he can’t—can’t do this. “Why can’t you understand--”

“Because you fucked me against the wall the other night like you were dying to. Because you told me I was _yours_. Because even right now,” Jared whispers, “you’re looking at me like you can’t stand the fact that your hands aren’t all over me. And when you do touch me…” Jared breathes, moving even closer, “it’s not just with your hands.”

“Jared.” Jensen takes another step backward, shoulders meeting the wall. 

“You called Chad for me.” Jared takes another step, soft, warm breath against Jensen’s mouth as he closes in. “You were worried about me.” Jared presses his hands against the wall above Jensen’s shoulders, quick, sweet bite of teeth against Jensen’s lower lip, drawing back, words painted against his mouth. “I’m all… you ever… think about.”

“You’re my client,” Jensen breathes. It’s all he’s got left and it isn’t nearly good enough. 

Jared melts against him, muscles and mouth, hands gripping his shoulders, lower lip dragging against Jensen’s, hot and sweet and perfect.

“Not just that. Not anymore.” Jared’s voice catches on the words, long body grinding against Jensen, hips pushing up and in. 

God, the way he _feels_ , it’s sinful it’s so good.

“And that’s…” eyes blown wide, pure hazel around a huge black center, “why you’re not…” sucking on Jensen’s lower lip, teeth grazing, body twisting, “like the guy who’s stalking me. Because,” Jared breathes, “no matter how much of an asshole I am, you’re here. Not just protecting me… but taking care of me.” 

If he were any more sane, if Jared were making any less sense or was any less _hot_ , he could argue that--but he isn’t, and Jared’s not, and God, he doesn’t want to. Jensen grabs at him blindly, fingers sinking into Jared’s hair and dragging him down, mouths colliding. Rough clash and perfect slide, choked off whimper and hands gripping Jensen’s face, pressing him against the wall, those hips rocking into him, and God damn him for a fucking fool.

“Drive me so crazy…” Jared whispers, licking over the swell of Jensen’s lower lip, palms wrapping around Jensen’s jaw line and tilting his head back. “Want you so much.” Tongue trailing up the line of Jensen’s pulse, eyes rolling back in his head, and fuck, it’s been so long since anyone touched him like this, talked to him like this. Since he’s _let_ anyone.

It’s time, isn’t it? Way past fucking time. 

He’s tired of fighting Jared, tired of fighting himself. 

He curls his fingers around Jared’s hair and pulls him in, spinning them around. Jared breathes in sharply, and Jensen drags them both backwards, one foot behind the other, calves hitting the edge of the bed, Jared’s mouth fused to his. His hands tug at Jared’s hair as he lets his legs give, falling backward, yanking Jared with him, weight falling on top of him, shoving the breath out of his lungs as his back meets the bed.

Jared’s eyes are wide, startled for a split second, just staring down at him, and Jensen pulls him down again, kisses Jared until Jared’s arching against him, hips thrusting, and God, his cock, dragging against Jensen’s, hard and hot with perfect friction through the thin material separating them. Jared’s kissing him down into the bed, hands fumbling for the knot at Jensen’s waist and untangling it, fingers finally sinking between the edges of the robe and ripping it open. 

“Jensen,” Jared’s mouth pulls from Jensen’s with a heavy groan, hips skidding as he rocks against Jensen, eyes caressing Jensen’s chest as completely as his hands. “Fuck.” Palms pressed against his skin, feeling out the texture, and it feels so strange.

_\--“Always knew you’d feel like this.”--_

No. That isn’t here; it isn’t now. That belongs dead and buried.

Jensen closes his eyes, surges up from the bed, hands seizing Jared by the hair, hips curling into Jared’s, tongue licking the inside of his mouth. Jared tastes sweet, like something stolen, and Jensen knows what that means just as much as he knows he doesn’t care. 

“So gorgeous,” Jared breathes, mouth swollen and sweet as it drags against Jensen’s, down his throat, tongue swirling, playing out along his collarbone, tasting every inch. Down, down, mouth closing around one hard nipple, teeth grazing, lips sucking, tongue spiraling out, circling and tracing lower. Fingers sliding down Jensen’s ribs, digging into his hips, curling under the waistline of his pajamas, hard, hot kisses pressed against skin while Jared pulls the edge down, pushing his boxers past his hips, stripping them away.

“God,” Jared exhales, breath hot, heavy against Jensen’s cock, and he buries his fingers in Jared’s hair, pulls him closer, tighter. “Been dying,” lips ghosting against the head, “to suck your cock …” tongue flicking out to taste the slit, “since the first day I saw you.” Jared bites at his lower lip, swell curling under perfect white teeth, eyes fixed on Jensen’s cock, tongue flickering against the air.

Jesus Christ. Jensen thrusts with his hips, cock head dragging against Jared’s smooth lips, streaking and smearing them, hands clenching in Jared’s hair. He lifts his head from the bed and cranes his neck, watches as Jared licks the taste of Jensen from his lips, those eyes flicking up to meet his as Jared closes his mouth around the crown, sucking and tonguing the slit.

This isn’t like anything they’ve done before. This is crossing a line they’re never coming back from.

Jensen throws his head back and yanks Jared down, feels him breathe out hard, cock slamming to the back of Jared’s throat, Jared moaning low, dirty vibration of sound around his dick. Jared feels so fucking _amazing_ , hot and slick, mouth dragging back and twisting, tongue flashing over the head, sucking _hard_ and fast down the length, moaning the whole time, fingernails digging into Jensen’s skin, pushing his hips against the bed. 

Hands fisted in Jared’s hair, holding tight, Jared’s head twisting, arcing, tongue curling up the underside of Jensen’s cock, suckling at the crown before he drives back down, swallowing Jensen until his mouth is buried at the base, and fuck. Jared’s throat closing around him, so sweet and tight, teasing away, licking slow up the length, tonguing at the bundle of nerves just under the head, lips locked, and Jensen lifts his head, has to see. Those lips stained dark red with sucking, clamped around his cock, cheeks hollowed out, sucking for all he’s worth, hazel eyes burning into him, and _Christ_ , he’s so incredibly hot. Staring at Jensen while he shoves down the length of Jensen’s cock, eyes locked on Jensen’s like he’s _loving_ this, like he’s dying for _more_.

Jensen can barely stand it, heart pounding, molten heat pooling in his belly, thighs tightening. He grabs Jared by the hair, yanking him away, and Jared twists his head away, runs his hands up under Jensen’s thighs and pushes them apart, tongue trailing lower, and God, fuck--circling the opening, pressing in, wet and gloriously fucking perfect, pushing inside him. Tongue curling, fucking him with long, steady strokes, and it’s been a long time since anyone sucked his cock like that, but it’s been even longer since anyone’s done this to him, and he feels like he’s going to lose his mind, the way Jared’s licking him mercilessly slow from the inside out. Jared’s lips close around the rim, soft mouth sucking on the sensitive skin, tongue still thrusting in and out of him, and Jensen digs his fingertips into the back of Jared’s head, groaning, hips rising from the bed. Jared moans in response, sound vibrating inside Jensen’s body, and Jensen gasps in a breath, hips jolting against the bed, cock twitching against his belly—and Jared pulls away, tongue licking a stripe up the center of Jensen’s cock, spit slick finger sliding inside him, replacing Jared’s tongue. 

Delicious stretch and sting, long finger pushing deep inside, fingertip curling, brushing against his prostate with a burst of pleasure so intense that Jensen goes rigid for an instant, muscles locking before he arches his back and thrusts against Jared’s hand.

“Jesus,” Jared breathes out, voice shaky. “So fucking hot, Jensen.”

It feels so good, too much and not enough, and Jared pushes in a second finger, sliding in slow and fucking him deep, mouth closing around his cock again and sucking until Jensen feels like he’s going to explode, hips rocking into the feel of Jared’s fingers, cock fucking Jared’s mouth with rough, jagged thrusts, fingers fastened in Jared’s hair. He’s slick with sweat, blood pumping through him hot and hard, and God, it’s so fucking exquisite, the feel of Jared’s mouth on him, fingers filling him. He can feel the tension in his belly rising quick, whole body trembling with the overload of sensation, and he’s going to—Christ—

“God dammit,” he growls, twisting Jared’s face away from his cock. His hands are shaking, whole body trembling, so close to the edge that his cock is aching with the need to come. “God damn you, you fucking tease,” he rasps, hands tugging Jared upward. Jared rolls his body like a wave, following the motion, chest sliding up Jensen’s stomach, fingers pulling out of him, chests meeting, cock gliding against Jensen’s and grinding down through silk. Jensen angles Jared’s face between his hands, mouth surging up into his, tongue flashing across Jared’s lower lip, teeth seizing it tight and tugging before he pulls away. “Fuck me _now_.” The words are a demand and a warning, purred into Jared’s mouth. “Or I will do permanent damage to you.”

Jared breathes in sharply, stealing the air from Jensen’s mouth—and then he’s in motion, sitting up on his knees and peeling his shirt up with both hands, stripping it over his head and discarding it. He’s so goddamned gorgeous, so perfectly cut and built, miles of tanned skin and flexing muscle, and Jensen wants to put his hands all over him, sits up far enough to grab Jared by the shoulders and yank him back down, palms skidding down the skin of Jared’s back as their mouths meet, tongues tangling. Jared’s hands push impatiently at his pajamas, his briefs, shoving them down past his hips to his knees, weight crashing into Jensen, finally bare skin to bare skin, cock hot and hard and dragging against Jensen’s, catching and slipping in the slick of Jared’s spit. Jared moans into Jensen’s mouth, hands closing around Jensen’s face, and kicks free of his clothing, body rocking into Jensen’s.

Jared lets go of him one more time, weight of his chest pressing Jensen into the bed as he lifts his hips away. Jensen can hear him tear open a condom package, feels Jared’s knuckles brush against his stomach as he rolls it on. It takes Jared less than a minute to get it on, to turn his face away and lick his palm until its glistening, hand sliding down and fisting his cock, and then he’s right there, cock pushing up between Jensen’s legs, mouth a slow swirl of searing heat against Jensen’s, hands gripping Jensen’s shoulders.

He has just a moment to think, _this is it_. He could stop Jared-- _should_ stop Jared—but he’s not going to. Because… because…

_\--On the inside, you’re on fire--_

Because he wants this. Because he wants this and it’s been a long time since he’s wanted anything… even longer since he’s let himself have this; since the last time he felt truly human and connected to anything. 

“Do it,” he whispers.

Jared moves with a sweet, slick slide, slow, so excruciatingly slow, hot, hard cock head opening Jensen, and it’s been forever since he’s felt this, feels like a lifetime ago. Thin burn of pain, sweetness stinging behind, filling him up until he can’t think, can’t feel anything else. Jared’s body rolling slow against him, pressed skin to skin, fingers curling into Jensen’s shoulders, cock sliding deep and sending sparks skittering all through him. 

“Oh my God. _Jensen_.” Jared bites out the words, hands holding on to Jensen like they’re all that’s holding him to the world. And then Jared twists his hips and shoves home, whole body shuddering, driving all the breath from Jensen’s lungs in a rush of white-hot pleasure and pain. Fingers slipping against sweat, nails biting into Jared’s skin, and there’s nothing but this; pain melting into pleasure, rippling all through him.

“Are you…?” Jared’s voice is shaking, trembling, and Jensen lifts his hips, stomach muscles rolling, slides a hand up Jared’s back and slips it into his hair, pulling him into a kiss.

“Jensen.” Jared breathes out his name against his mouth, and Jensen has to close his eyes against the sound—feels it deeper than Jared inside him. They’re both shaking, and Jensen can feel Jared’s heart pounding against him, feel his own trying to beat out of his chest, their bare skin slick with sweat, bodies locked together. Nothing between them now except skin and truth, and it’s too much honesty, more than Jensen thinks he can stand. 

And then Jared starts to move, hips drawing away from Jensen, slow drag of his cock against the sweet spot inside him, pulling to the edge, arms sliding underneath him, fingers wrapping around Jensen’s shoulders from the other side. Sharp teeth close around Jensen’s lower lip, tongue swirling out slow, and Jared thrusts, Jensen rising to meet him, bodies meeting with a jolt, and Jensen bites him back, tugging at Jared’s lower lip, moaning around the swell. He can feel Jared’s muscles ripple under his hands as Jared pulls back again, stomach curling, hips angling lower, cock rushing to fill Jensen, hitting the sweet spot hard on the way in, and Jensen’s eyes squeeze shut with sudden, intense pleasure, whole body arching into the feeling.

“Fuck, Jensen. You kill me.” Words uttered out low, like a secret spilled into Jensen’s mouth. So much meaning in those simple words, want and need and trust and… and… 

Jensen digs his nails into Jared’s skin, kissing Jared hard, rocking his hips into Jared’s. “Shut up,” he growls, seizing Jared’s lower lip between his teeth. “God. Just shut up for once.” 

“Can’t…” Jared groans, twisting his hips and dragging back. “Can’t believe…” Teeth grazing his throat, mouth trailing up the line of his pulse, tonguing along the line of his jaw, whispering into his ear, “didn’t know you’d feel so… _God_.” Jared thrusts into him, quick and rough with another twist of his hips that steals all the words from Jensen’s mouth, forces all the breath from his lungs. 

Too much--too fucking much--and this was such a mistake, because he’s

_on fire on the inside_

in so much deeper than he’d ever thought, and so far from caring. 

He wraps his arms around Jared’s shoulders, sweat slick between them, sliding skin to skin, drives his hips up from the bed, body slamming into Jared’s, both of them gasping at the feeling of Jared buried so deep inside him. He throws his head back against the pillows, heels digging into the small of Jared’s back, stomach muscles rippling, sliding up the length of Jared’s cock, and Jared shudders, face falling against Jensen’s, biting at the line of Jensen’s jaw, cursing against his skin, hips pulling back and then driving into him so hard that Jensen twists against the bed, fingernails tearing at Jared’s back. Mouths sealed together, hot and wet, bodies locked in a building rhythm, and Jared pulls Jensen even tighter against him, curls his hips under and thrusts, dragging back out before he corkscrews his hips and does it again, and again, cock head hitting Jensen’s prostate every single time, until Jensen can’t see anything but stars behind his eyes, insanely exquisite pleasure building inside him like a rush of volcanic heat.

Jared, fucking him so intensely hard, and he pulls away from Jensen’s mouth, smudges a thumb across the bottom of Jensen’s lower lip, palm fitting to Jensen’s face, looking down at him with those eyes. “God… you… fucking… wreck me.”

The words hit him like a sucker punch, and God, Jared’s face, so beautiful, shimmering with sweat, so honest and--Jensen closes his eyes, hands grabbing Jared by the face and yanking him down, kissing him hard. 

Jared groans into him, hand sliding down between them, slipping down Jensen’s slick belly, caught between the rippling of their stomach muscles as Jared keeps fucking him. Jared’s fingers close around Jensen’s cock, and Jensen pushes into his grip, teeth biting into Jared’s lower lip, hissing out a breath around the soft swell. He’s rock hard, wetness leaking from the tip, and Jared thumbs at the slit, twisting his wrist and his hips at the same time, squeezing Jensen’s cock and hitting his prostate, and he can feel it like liquid heat in his stomach, building sharp and quick to a crescendo.

His whole body tenses, clamping down around Jared’s cock, fingernails digging into Jared’s shoulders, body rising up off the bed as he thrusts into the feeling of Jared inside him. 

“Oh my motherfucking _God_ ,” Jared gasps, rhythm speeding up, jerking Jensen even harder, and it’s hot and so fucking magnificent, this feeling inside him, everything opening up, giving way. Skin to skin and there’s nothing but Jared, inside him and outside him, hand jerking his cock with hard, mindless strokes, fucking him gracelessly, groaning out his name.

He bites Jared’s lower lip so hard he can taste blood, and then tears his teeth away, spilling out a string curses as the first wave hits him, cock spurting hot and wet between their bodies. It strikes like lightning, sudden and jagged, leaving him breathless and writhing against the bed, nails scraping away skin, gasping for air when the next wave hits him hard and drags him under. He comes violently hard, Jared grinding into him, rotating his hips, cock hitting every sweet spot and then some, and the world grays out, fades away completely, narrowed to the way Jared’s fucking him, hand wet and messy with come, wringing every last bit of pleasure from him.

Jared’s teeth seize against his throat, sending another burst of sensation through him like a shock, hips shoving into Jared’s hand, cock pulsing out another burst. 

“Christ,” Jared hisses, and Jensen feels him shove hard, slip-slide skidding to the bottom in a rush and holding deep, pushing in just a little deeper, cock twitching inside of Jensen, whole body trembling. “Jensen.” Jared bites out the word, ragged and guttural, palm flexing around the head of Jensen’s cock, and Jensen goes rigid in his grasp, pushing out one last blinding flash of pleasure before Jared’s mouth seals over his, kissing him like he’s trying to devour Jensen from the inside out, hips stuttering, body grinding and shaking.

Slow, heaving thrusts as they ride out the aftershocks, both of them breathing into each other’s mouths, hands slowly loosening, gliding over skin, feeling the ripple and play of muscles beneath, until finally they’re both still, Jared’s weight heavy against him, hands still and hearts beating fit to burst.

“That was… God. I don’t even…” Jared breathes, head shaking, wet hair dragging against Jensen’s cheek.

“It’s… been a long time.”

Jared lifts his face, looking down at Jensen curiously. “How long?”

“You really… never shut up… do you?” Jensen asks between breaths, mouth curling in a rueful smile. “Years.”

Jared’s eyes widen fractionally. “So why now?”

“I wanted to,” Jensen answers, hands sliding up Jared’s shoulders, twisting his body and rolling them both over until he’s lying on top of Jared. 

He can see dozens of questions in Jared’s eyes, and he’s not ready to give answers to any of them, so he dips his head, kisses Jared instead, tongue circling, suckling, deep and slow. “Need to clean up,” he whispers when he draws back, hand reaching down between them and closing around the base of Jared’s softening cock, holding the condom as he pulls free. Jared twitches, wincing slightly as Jensen pulls off, and Jensen feels a vague, empty ache inside him. 

Jared reaches for him again, hands gripping his shoulders and holding him. Jared just looks at him, not saying anything for a few long seconds, and then he lets go. Jensen slides his leg across Jared’s body and rises from the bed, feet touching down on the lush carpet. He closes the bathroom door behind him and turns on the water in the tub, sitting on the porcelain edge, fingers running through the stream.

_\--“Always knew you’d feel like this.”—_

_\--“You’re the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.--_

It’s all pushing too close to the edges, past and present blurring together.

_\-- “You don’t bend, Jensen. You’re an oak—the kind who holds out until they finally snap against the force of a hurricane.” Faded blue eyes staring into him, mesmerizing, raspy voice full of whiskey and cigarettes weaving around him, filling up his mind until it’s all he can hear. “If I waited until you were ready, I’d be waiting until we were dead. Nothing’s ever one hundred percent—you know that—and you still make decisions in the field every day. Because you **have** to. No one’s ever **ready**.” Rough hands clasping his face, pulling him closer. “They just make a choice.”_

_“I can’t do this.” His voice is a ragged plea, voice gone husky and deep, and he’s so goddamned close to saying yes._

_“Yes you can.” Warm hand over his, pushing his palm against smooth skin. “You’re cold on the outside, Jen, but on the inside, you’re on **fire**. You can’t change that, no matter how much you want to. I see you.”_

_The dock creaks beneath their weight, pale splintered wood. Hands on his skin, lips like sugar pressed against Jensen’s, sweet and knowing. Taste of sea salt caught between them on the bitter cold breeze._

_“You want this, Jensen. You always have.” --_

He turns on the shower and gets to his feet, stepping inside the tub and into the stream. He takes his time, like he almost never does, soaping the washcloth and then his body, hot water beading on his skin, pouring down between his shoulder blades, trickling over his chest. 

He isn’t ready for this. He’s never going to be ready.

_\--“You want this, Jensen. You always have.”_

_Heated breath against his mouth, steaming on the winter air._

_“Make the choice.”--_

 

Jared’s lying on the bed, heart still pounding as the bathroom door shuts. He doesn’t understand what just happened, _why_ it happened, and his brain is still reeling from it all. Jensen, making his head spin like a whirlwind, kissing him so passionately, so hot, asking Jared to fuck him, wanting Jared so much, moving underneath him, hands and mouth silently speaking everything Jared’s been wanting to hear.

And then Jensen pulled away like that… leaving so abruptly. It’s all too familiar—par for the course really—and Jared’s surprised that he’ s surprised by it at all, still too stunned to be angry, yet.

He can hear the water running in the bathroom, running water shifting to the spray of the shower. He can picture Jensen standing underneath it, water glistening on his naked skin, soap trailing bubbles through it, and wonders what’s going through Jensen’s head right now. He doesn’t have any idea, and that frustrates him just as much as it fascinates him.

Jared lies there for a while, chewing at his lower lip and trying to process it all. Finally, he sits up, peeling the off the condom carefully before he ties a knot in it. He rises from the bed and walks to the wastebasket by the desk and tosses it in. There’s a single towel in the clothes basket, probably from Jensen’s morning shower, and Jared pulls it out, wipes away the slippery mess on his belly, his cock. 

He feels like he got closer than ever to Jensen tonight, saw the real Jensen underneath the armor, completely bare for once. And if past experience tells him anything, that means Jensen’s going to pull away all over again, harder than ever. Is this how it’s always going to be?

He finds his pajama pants and briefs and slips into them, bitterness welling up in the back of his throat. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here when Jensen comes out of the bathroom. Doesn’t want to see the shuttered mask of Jensen’s face look at him with cool repose and ask him to leave. Not after seeing Jensen finally open up. He doesn’t think he could stand it.

He hears the water shut off in the bathroom, and suddenly _needs_ to get the fuck out of here, right now. He does a quick search for his shirt—he’d leave it behind if he wouldn’t have to face Jensen returning it to him later, be reminded of this all over again—and it takes him precious minutes before he finds it between the bed and the night table. He tugs his shirt over his head, pulling the edge down around his hips and runs a hand through his hair before he decides he doesn’t give a shit what he looks like.

He’s almost home free, hand reaching for the knob when he hears the bathroom door open.

 

Jensen shouldn’t be surprised that Jared’s leaving, but he is. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and now that it has, he finds he’s not exactly clear on how he feels about it. He can tell Jared hears him, shoulders tensing, spine stiffening as he stops in front of the door.

Jared doesn’t turn around, body cut from dim yellow lamp light, delineating the lines of his muscles, shadow cutting between. He’s so goddamned gorgeous.

“Figured you needed some space. Maybe we both do.” Jared’s shoulder muscles ripple in a shrug, fingers closing around the door knob. 

And maybe Jensen should let him go. Maybe he’s not ready for this. Maybe he’s never going to be. ‘Maybe’ a lot of things.

_\--“Make the choice.”--_

To hell with ‘maybe’.

“Do _you_?” Jensen asks, taking a step forward. “Need space?”

Jared hesitates, fingers resting against the knob. “I didn’t come here tonight because I needed space.”

Jensen takes another step, then another, until he’s so close that he could touch Jared. He reaches out, hands skimming Jared’s waist, settling against his hips, body leaning in behind.

“Then stay,” he whispers.

Jared stands there, deathly still for the span of a heartbeat, and then he spins around, hands closing on Jensen’s face and pulling him in, kissing him furiously. Jensen pushes Jared back a step until Jensen’s got him pinned against the bedroom door with his weight, kissing him back just as hard. Jared tears his mouth away from Jensen’s, throwing his head back against the door, long expanse of his throat bared for Jensen to taste, breathing out hard.

“God, want you again.”

Jensen licks his way slowly up the line of Jared’s pulse, tasting salt, and leans into Jared with his chest, hands running down Jared’s body, around his waist, down the curve of his ass on both sides, gripping him hard. Jared feels _amazing_ , ass tightly muscled and perfectly round, and he growls his approval into Jared’s neck, pushing a thigh between Jared’s. He can feel the hot, heavy weight of Jared’s cock hardening against him already.

Jensen’s not wearing anything except the towel he tucked around his waist before he came out of the bathroom, and Jared’s hands tug at it insistently, tearing it free. Jared slides his hands down and grabs Jensen’s ass, spine arching, hips rocking into Jensen. Jared can only move a fraction of an inch against Jensen’ s weight, gasping out his frustration, and Jensen smirks, lets his weight roll up the length of his thigh, grinding into Jared, mouth fused to curve of his throat, teeth grazing skin. 

His bare cock is gliding against the silk of Jared’s pajama pants, buttery smooth slide that sends shivers racing up his spine, but it’s not quite what he wants right now. He grabs Jared by the shoulders, spinning them both around, mouths still pressed together, walking Jared backwards towards the bed until he feels the backs of Jared’s thighs hit it. He stops there, fingers of one hand tracing the line of Jared’s hip, the other dragging fingertips down Jared’s face, lips brushing against Jared’s. “Take off your clothes.”

Jared shivers slightly at the words, hands letting go of Jensen, and Jensen takes a step backward, gives Jared just enough room to cross his arms over his chest and strip away his shirt; thumbs hooking into the waistline of his pants and briefs, pulling both until they slide to the floor on their own. Standing there naked, Jared is magnificent, musculature as perfect as if Michelangelo had sculpted him from stone, and Jensen takes a moment, looking him up and down. Wide shoulders, massive chest, skin tanned and smooth, nipples just a shade darker than the rest of him, perfect abs tapering down between his narrow waist and hips, huge, hard cock rising up and out at an angle from his body.

“Wanna do _everything_ to you,” Jensen tells him, voice gritty, low and dirty.

“Jensen.” Jared lifts his hands, reaching for Jensen.

Jensen presses a hand to the center of Jared’s chest, shoving him backwards. Jared falls, hitting the bed with a thump, and Jensen climbs onto it on all fours, crawling slow on hands and knees up Jared’s body, eyes raking over bare skin until he meets Jared’s eyes, palms sliding forward against the mattress until their chests touch, hips swinging in behind, cock dragging against Jared’s, both of them rock hard, skin burning up, mouths falling together in a wet, deep tangle. Jensen pushes with his hips, slick tip of his dick gliding and skipping across thin skin, hissing at the feel of Jared’s bare cock against his own. 

“God, Jensen,” Jared breathes, twisting his mouth away and shuddering into the thrust. “You feel so fucking _good_.”

Jared spread out underneath him, bare skin rising to his touch, wanting everything. “So hot,” Jensen whispers, kissing away from Jared’s mouth, tongue trailing down his throat, winding slowly down between his pecs and out to the side, circling one nipple until it’s peaked and aching hard. He closes his mouth over it, sucking and scraping lightly with his teeth, Jared gasping and arching into him, hands sliding through his hair. He pulls his stomach in tight and thrusts with his hips, grinding his cock down against Jared’s, teeth teasing at the tip of Jared’s nipple before he pulls away, groaning with the feel.

“Plenty of time… for every single thing I want to do,” Jensen whispers, tongue flashing against Jared’s collarbone, hips shuddering. His cock paints a wet line up the center of Jared’s, and it feels so insanely good, Jared arching into him, hissing out as Jensen tongues along his jaw. He seals his mouth over Jared’s, and Jared kisses him, tongue pushing deep, searing hot and so desperate, silky skin molded to him, cock hard and thick, smeared wet and slick against Jensen’s .

“The way you feel,” Jensen groans, shivering, hips sliding backward. “It’s… fucking criminal,” he gasps, sweet-slick drag until he buries his teeth in Jared’s lower lip, arms sliding underneath Jared’s body and gripping him by the shoulders. Sinful, the way Jared moves to take him, shameless and wanton, body thrusting up into Jensen’s as he drives down, cocks meeting with a jolt of sensation that sends his eyes rolling back in his head, belly boiling over hard and fast.

Jensen grabs him by the hips and rides him hard, dick catching and pulling, bare skin to bare skin between the slick spots, gorgeous, imperfect friction that sends him skittering further towards the edge. Jared’s head is turned sideways into the pillow, pink mouth open and moaning, fingers buried in the muscles of Jensen’s ass, urging him on, harder, faster, and it hits him all at once, cock head catching under the crown of Jared’s dick and then skidding past.

Jensen tilts his head down, watches as the head of his cock drags against Jared’s belly, sliding up the valley of Jared’s stomach muscles, painting a wet trail, and it’s too much—the sight and the feeling of it, thick, hard length of Jared still grinding against him. Sleek thrust and glide, Jared rocking into him, legs wrapping around Jensen, and that’s it, that’s all he can _stand_.

He comes like a rocket, painting Jared’s stomach with such _pretty_ patterns of come; slick, pearly drops, and God, he can’t—has to look away.

“Fuck.” Word hissed out, quick and guttural, eyes closing as his face falls against Jared’s chest, teeth clenching around his collarbone. 

“God yes,” Jared breathes, body flexing under Jensen, hands sliding up his back, pulling him in closer, closing on the back of his skull. “Fuck yes.”

He can feel Jared come, sudden slick between them greasing the way as they both thrust into each other, push, and grind, and it’s exquisite, Jensen’s whole body seizing. He shivers with the force of his orgasm, crushing Jared against his chest and riding it out, Jared’s cock hot and pulsing against him, mouth tearing away from Jared as his teeth snap together, hips snapping in time. Jared’s hands on his head, pulling him down into a wet smear of a kiss, rough and messy, so careless it’s almost bruising—and Jensen feels his belly coil, cock shooting out one last pearly string, twitching against the feel of Jared humping into him. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen.” Jared grates out the words in time with the rhythm of his hips, and he’s beautiful like this, so gorgeous when he comes. 

God. He is _so_ fucked.

Jared bucks against him, clutching and stiffening, whole body locking down as he finishes, arms clutching Jensen like iron bands. Jensen shivers one last time, eyes closing against the feel, the look on Jared’s face.

His forehead dips, resting against Jared’s shoulder, sweat-slick, sweet hollow that makes him want to flick out his tongue and taste. They just breathe, hands still holding on to each other, hearts beating hard and out of time.

“Jensen…” Jared’s voice is breathless, tired as Jensen feels, fingertips flexing against him.

“No.” Jensen tugs at Jared’s body, rolling them both onto their sides, mouth rising to claim Jared’s. “Not tonight.”

Jared nods weakly, arms wrapped around Jensen, and Jensen… pushes his face into the crook of Jared’s shoulder, feels Jared’s breathing evening out as he slides down into sleep. 

Jensen falls asleep right there, just like that.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

Jared is dimly aware of the sound of chimes playing from somewhere, eyes blinking open sleepily to pale morning sunlight as Jensen pulls away from him, getting up from the bed. Jared cranes his neck, eyes following Jensen as he walks across the room to the dresser. He’s still naked, muscles rippling and flexing, so goddamned cut and perfect, and his _ass_ \--Jared bites down against his lower lip, cock twitching against his belly. 

“Where are you going?” Jared asks.

Jensen pushes a button on the cell phone lying on the dresser, and the chimes stop. “You’re here,” Jensen says. He turns around, walking back towards Jared, and Jared’s pretty sure he’s never going to get tired of looking at Jensen without any clothes on, is almost positive, in fact, that it would be an awesome way to spend eternity. “And you don’t have anywhere to be, so...” Jensen slides back onto the bed, lying down on his side, facing Jared. “Nowhere,” Jensen concludes, grabbing Jared by the hip and pulling him in.

“I approve of this plan,” Jared murmurs, cock half-hard and rubbing against Jensen’s belly. 

“Oh, you haven’t heard my plan, yet,” Jensen says and smirks, hand sliding down and around Jared’s hip, palm cupping his ass.

“What’s your plan?”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth curls, and he yanks Jared over onto his stomach, palm shoving Jared flat against the bed. He’s between Jared’s legs before Jared can even catch his breath, hands pushing Jared’s thighs apart, body sliding up the bed. Oh, _God_ , Jensen’s tongue, dragging up the crease of him, circling the rim, and Jared shivers, cock suddenly so hard he can barely think past it. 

“My plan,” Jensen says, voice low and gravelly, “is to do…” tongue teasing up the small of Jared’s back, “as many…” tracing the line of his spine, chest riding the curve of his back, “filthy things to you…” teeth biting down on the nape of Jared’s neck, sending chills racing all through him, “as possible…” cock nudging up between his legs, riding the crease, “before you beg me to stop.”

Jared moans, arching into the velvety hardness of Jensen pressed against him. “Please yes,” Jared gasps, straining against the bed.

Jensen takes his time, licking and biting every sensitive spot on Jared’s body on the way back down, fingers tracing out the lines of Jared’s hips before they settle against his ass and spread him open even wider, tongue flickering out to taste. Jared groans, face twisting down into the pillow, biting his lower lip. His whole body tenses, jolting up the bed as Jensen wriggles the tip of his tongue inside him, and Jensen’s hands push down against him, fingertips digging in and holding Jared still, aching hard cock pressed deep into the mattress. He can feel Jensen breathe out hot against his skin, pointed tip of his tongue barely touching Jared, and Jared shivers in anticipation, hands reaching up to grab the edge of the mattress. 

Jensen tongues just inside him, teasing the incredibly sensitive nerves around the rim until Jared feels like his head is going to explode, and then proceeds to bury his tongue inside Jared, filling him, sliding to the rim and back again, sleek, slick curl of wicked tongue fucking Jared with agonizing slowness. Jensen rims him for what feels like forever, until Jared is sweating, trembling, hands holding the bed in a death grip, and Jensen just holds him down, keeps him there and tortures him gloriously with his tongue until Jared’s senseless, begging mindlessly for Jensen to touch his cock. He can feel Jensen chuckle into his body, vibration reverberating inside him, sending explosions through every nerve, and his cock jerks convulsively, wetness leaking from the tip. Jensen slides a hand under Jared’s stomach then, fingers closing around Jared’s cock, and Jared just about pulls out of his skin at the feel.

Jensen jerks his cock at the same leisurely pace he’s fucking Jared with his tongue, and Jared can feel the pressure build, coiling to a slow knot in his belly that threatens to drive him _insane_. Jensen’s fist squeezing him, tongue fucking him deliciously deep and slow, and Jensen thumbs under the head of his cock, sending Jared’s upper body arching off the bed, hands pulling the top of the mattress away from the box spring as he comes, body quaking like he’s going to shake apart, crying out Jensen’s name. Jensen drags it out, tongue and hand fucking Jared in a counter-rhythm, other hand still holding Jared still, and Jared is going to die, quivering as Jensen _keeps_ stroking him, cock drained dry, delicious aftershocks coursing through him over and over again, muscles seizing, teeth grinding together.

Jared is a complete, wrung out mess, boneless and beyond sated, melting into the bed when Jensen finally relents, fingertips trailing up Jared’s cock and sending another shiver of pleasure through him, tongue slipping from him. Jared is vaguely aware that Jensen is moving, getting off the bed and doing… _something_ , but Jared can’t tell what it is from the sounds, and turning his head seems like way too much effort. He can feel Jensen’s weight settling back onto the bed, and then Jensen’s hands close on Jared’s shoulders, turning him over. 

Every single nerve in Jared’s body is over sensitized, and the simple contact of skin to skin, of Jensen’s chest sliding up his body, sends another shudder rippling through him. Hands gliding up the backs of his thighs, pushing them up, and he can feel the head of Jensen’s cock, hard and hot and pressed against him.

“I was trying,” Jensen breathes, teeth grazing Jared’s lower lip, “to decide between riding you and fucking you just as senseless with my cock as I did with my tongue.” Jensen turns his face, mouth gliding down along Jared’s collarbone. “I don’t think I have to tell you…” slick cock head nudging against Jared’s rim, “that when these are my choices?” hands running along Jared’s arms, fingers circling his wrists. “It’s…” Jensen pushing his wrists up above his head, “a really…” pinning him there, weight pressing into Jared, “good...” flash of tongue across Jared’s lower lip, “morning.” Jensen shoves with his hips, cock filling Jared all the way to the bottom in one thrust that leaves Jared breathless, thrashing helplessly against the bed.

Jensen’s fingers tighten around his wrists, cock sliding out, mouth skimming his throat, whispering out against Jared’s skin. “And then I thought...” hips slamming into Jared, cock skidding over his prostate, sinking deep, “it would be…” slow grind and twist, “ _such_ a shame…” Jensen breathing into his mouth, “to waste…” heavy drag and thrust, Jared’s body jolting on impact, “the way I left you… all tongued open… so ready to be fucked.” Jensen growls out the last words, and Jared can’t move, doesn’t even want to, body pinned under Jensen’s weight, moaning out against how good it feels; Jensen fucking him deep and hard, teeth clashing together with every thrust. Arms pinned above his head, and he wants it, wants every bit of it, twisting his wrists against Jensen’s grasp, hips driving up to meet him.

Jensen jerks his hips, cock riding hard against the sweet spot inside Jared, stomach muscles grinding up the length of Jared’s cock, and Jared’s hands fall open against the bed, fingertips twitching uselessly against the air, just _feeling_ Jensen grinding into him, fingers closing so tight around Jared’s wrists that he knows he’ll have a ring of pretty bruises tomorrow, and it’s so hot, the idea of Jensen branding Jared with his fingers--every single thing _about_ him is… Christ.

“More,” Jared manages, mouth shaping the word against Jensen’s lips, hips rising, rocking into him, shuddering and jolting against the bed as Jensen fucks into him even harder. “God. More.”

“Jesus Christ, Jared,” Jensen whispers, muscles going stiff, body sheathed in sweat, cock buried inside Jared, fingers clenching around his wrists. “So. Fucking. Hot.” Each word bitten out against Jared’s skin, painted with tongue and teeth, cock skidding and scraping, strong, perfect body twisting, pounding into him.

Jensen shifts his grip, holding Jared’s wrists with the fingers of one hand, other reaching down between them, closing around Jared’s dick, stroking him hard and fast, hips slamming into him roughly, cock rubbing against the sweet spot inside. Jared’s orgasm rips through him with violent force, sudden and brutal, hands closing into fists, body stretching and straining under Jensen’s, Jensen hammering into him relentlessly harder until his nails are biting into his palms, every muscle in his body locked down, trembling, cock pulsing again and again.

“Feel so good… squeezing my cock,” Jensen grates out, slamming home one last time with a thrust that skids over Jared’s prostate and sends another explosion of pleasure all through him, eyes snapping shut, mouth falling open. Jensen fucks him deep with short strokes, keeps rocking and rutting into him, letting go of Jared’s wrists and grabbing him by the shoulders. 

“Fuck,” Jensen groans, shivering, and Jared can feel Jensen’s cock flex inside him as Jensen comes, setting off aftershocks that make Jared’s dick twitch uselessly. Jensen’s mouth falls against his, teeth sinking into his lower lip and holding while Jensen rides it out, until finally he gives one last shove with his hips, teeth sliding away, body falling limp on top of Jared’s.

They lie there for a minute, Jared’s heart pounding like a racehorse and he isn’t sure he remembers how to _breathe_ right anymore, gasping in deep lungfuls of air. He’s a sweaty, fucked out _wreck_ , beyond satisfied, and Jensen’s sprawled on top of him, in no hurry to go anywhere, face pressed into Jared’s neck.

“Yeah,” Jared pants. “This is… what I’d call… a good morning.”

Jensen chuckles against him, body shifting lazily to one side so that his full weight isn’t pressing down on Jared. That’s as far as he moves though, and Jared wraps an arm around him, fingers stroking along Jensen’s spine. They lie like that for a few more minutes, until they’re both breathing regularly again, and Jensen shifts a little further to the side.

“We’re going to have to get up soon, get cleaned up and put in an appearance before people start to notice we’re missing.”

“Are you worried about what they’ll think?” Jared asks, thought suddenly striking him, and he tenses a little, waiting for Jensen’s answer.

“No. I just don’t want to have to deal with a search party laying siege to my room while I’m not dressed.” 

Jared chuckles, muscles relaxing against the bed.

“Besides,” Jensen adds, head rising to look at Jared. “I’m starving.” 

“Am I supposed to make you breakfast?” Jared asks, mouth quirking in a smile. “Because I’m not sure I know how. Oh, wait,” he says, as if just remembering, “I have a staff to make breakfast for you.” 

“I’m quite skilled in the kitchen,” Jensen assures him, smirking back.

“That shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it was in my head,” Jared says, shaking his head.

“I have a gift,” Jensen says, shrugging. “It’s not your fault.”

Jared cracks up, face breaking into a broad grin. “So, is this what you’re really like? Because I could do without the ego trip.”

“Lies,” Jensen returns, deadpan. “The ego trip is _why_ you’re here.”

“Not the only reason.”

“That and my utterly charming personality,” Jensen agrees. “No one could blame you,” he adds, soberly affirming.

Jared was going for something a little deeper with that line, and he has a hundred questions about _every single thing_ that’s happened in the last twelve hours. But right here, right now? This is way too much fun, and he doesn’t want anything more than to lie here in bed with Jensen all day long. He can think of hundreds of _other_ things they can work on figuring out in the meantime.

“Screw it,” Jared whispers, hands closing around Jensen’s face and pulling him down. “I’ll have Katie bring us food, and we can stay right fucking here.”

Jensen doesn’t pull back, mouth warm and soft against Jared’s, but he can feel the way Jensen doesn’t relax against him, kissing out slow. “I still have rounds to make,” Jensen tells him in a low voice. “Still have a job to do. Now more than ever.”

Yesterday seems like a _really_ long time ago, but Jared can still see those perfect bullet holes fired through the down of his pillow, black ash curling at the edges. He doesn’t want to see it, but it’s burned into his brain. He pushes the image away, nodding slowly. 

“So how does this work now?” he asks. “You being my bodyguard?”

Jensen tilts his head to the side. “No differently. You’re still _not_ allowed to distract me when I’m working.”

“Keep my hands to myself?” Jared frowns. “Not sure I can do that.”

“Don’t make me have to tie you up.”

And well…

“Would you?” Jared asks, brows rising as he grins suggestively at Jensen.

Jensen’s face goes very still, and then he shakes his head, looking at Jared with such hopelessness that Jared bursts out laughing.

“I hate you,” Jensen informs him in flat tones.

That just makes Jared laugh even harder.

 

Jensen uses the shower first, and Jared entertains the idea of joining him, wondering if Jensen’s the type who enjoys showering together, or if he’s more private than that. But Jared knows goddamned well if he steps foot inside that bathroom, they’re not going to get anywhere near cleaning up, not even if Jensen tries to force him—because that would just make it even hotter.

He lies on the bed, looking thoughtfully at the suitcases closed shut and arranged carefully inside the crack of the open closet door.

No. He is _not_ going to go digging through Jensen’s private stuff, no matter how appealing the idea seems at the moment.

It occurs to him that Jensen’s the kind of guy who’d unpack his suitcases completely; hang everything in the closet that could be hung, tuck everything else into dresser drawers. He can’t imagine what those other things could be besides boxers and undershirts, but he’s sure Jensen would take every single thing out of his luggage.

He gets up from the bed, looking for his scattered clothing, and finds his shirt near the foot of the dresser, hesitating as he bends down, staring at the handles of the drawers in front of him.

He can hear the shower running in the bathroom, and he bites his lower lip, deliberating. He shouldn’t. He really, _really_ shouldn’t. He stands up and sees Jensen’s wallet on the dresser next to his cell phone, and really… how much could it hurt to take a peek? There can’t be anything _too_ personal in a wallet.

It’s quality leather, soft and obviously well-oiled. Jared flips it open. The first thing he sees is Jensen’s driver’s license, eyes skimming the date of birth, noting that Jensen looks dead fucking hot even in a crap ass picture like this one. Jensen Ross Ackles. He likes it; it’s got a certain flow to it. Actually, it’d make a great movie star name.

No pictures, but that’s not surprising in the age of cell phone cameras. Credit cards—though not many—a Navy Federal bank card, a couple of twenty dollar bills. Jared absently runs his thumb along the edge of the billfold, vaguely disappointed. He rubs his thumb in a slow circle, about to close the wallet when he feels the edge of leather push up underneath. He frowns, looking closer, and realizes the stitching has come out of the seam along the billfold lining. Jensen definitely doesn’t strike him as the type of person who wouldn’t notice a detail like that. He gets his thumbnail underneath the flap and flips it up, sliding down the length. It opens easily enough, and there’s… something tucked down in there, shiny edge of plastic glimmering in the light. He slides his fingers behind it and slips it free. 

It’s a picture, encased in a hard slipcase. Jensen is younger than he is now, creases at the edges of his eyes not worn quite so deep. He’s standing against a backdrop of cloudy blue sky, one arm wrapped around the shoulder of the guy standing next to him. They’re both dressed in wet suits, Jensen leaning heavily into the other man, not smiling so much as he’s cracking up at the face the guy next to him is pulling for the camera. Despite the amazing elasticity of the man’s face, he’s obviously drop-dead gorgeous, sharp blue eyes with strong, carved cheekbones and jaw line. There’s an ease between them, an intimacy implicit in the way they’re leaning into each other, and they could be SEAL teammates, or two good friends out for an afternoon of scuba diving… except that Jensen ripped the stitches out of the billfold to hide this picture in it. Except that it’s the one personal thing Jensen’s got in his wallet at all.

He hears the water turn off in the bathroom, patter of the shower falling silent, and quickly tucks the slipcase back inside the hidden space, smoothing the leather fold over the edge. He closes the wallet and puts it back down on the dresser exactly where it was before, and proceeds to undertake a very pointed expedition to find his pajama pants.

He finds them all too quickly, pooled where he’d dropped them at the end of the bed and he tugs them on, walking to the bathroom door and putting a shoulder against the jamb as he waits for it to open. 

Whoever the guy is, he’s clearly important to Jensen—or maybe, _was_ , since the picture is hidden and they just spent the last twelve hours doing things he’d normally be dying to tell Tom all about. 

Maybe this is the explanation for the memories he sees in Jensen’s eyes sometimes. Maybe this is what Jared’s been up against all along. 

And maybe it still is. 

After all, Jared’s not exactly hidden-in-Jensen’s-wallet picture material.

Whatever. If that’s how it is, he’ll deal with it. He hasn’t come up against anything he couldn’t beat out yet.

Jensen opens the door, towel tucked around his waist, arching a brow when he sees Jared standing there.

Jared pulls out a smile and pushes the picture out of his mind.

 

In some ways, it’s exactly like it was before.

Jensen’s even more watchful and alert, even though Jared doesn’t go any further from his house than his morning run. All Jared can think about whenever he looks at Jensen is how he wants to lean in and kiss that full mouth again. It’s intoxicating, mesmerizing, having Jensen so close all the time; the smell of him, the way he moves, and—God help Jared—the way Jensen touches him whenever he wants Jared to do something specific. It’s a completely unspoken communication that Jared cues into instantly. Just a brush of Jensen’s fingers against Jared’s shoulder, and Jared stops immediately, touch sending electric shivers through him. It’s a delicious kind of tension, and Jared bites down against his lower lip whenever the feel gets to be too much, so wound up by the end of the day that he can barely stand it.

By the time they get to Jared’s room, Jared feels like he’s about to come right out of his skin watching Jensen move around his room, checking it thoroughly. There’s been no tension in Jensen at all except for his usual alert poise and the occasional frown of concern, and he looks just as intent on his work now as he has all day.

Jared’s barely keeping it together, watching Jensen crawl around on his bed. Jensen finishes his check of the headboard and climbs from the bed, turning around to face Jared, and Jared takes a deep breath—has no idea what comes next.

Jensen turns to face him—and then his hands are on Jared’s face, pulling him in, kissing him with a strong, slow, sleek length of tongue. Jared moans in relief, hands sliding up Jensen’s chest, feeling him through his suit, and God yes-- _finally_.

They fall onto the bed, tugging at each other’s clothes, and Jensen strips him naked, fucks him right there in his own bed, makes him come so hard that his brain melts, Jensen’s hands closing over Jared’s and holding there as they fall asleep together.

In some ways, it’s nothing like it was before.

 

It’s not as if everything changes all at once, but things do change, and Jensen’s intensely aware of each difference.

Jared doesn’t leave the grounds--at all. Shooting is called off for the whole week as the police investigation continues, and the fact that Jared doesn’t seem the slightest bit bothered by it mystifies Jensen. Jared even cancels out on a movie premiere party for one of his friends without batting an eye, and Jensen wants to ask, but he doesn’t. After all, Jared’s _finally_ doing exactly what Jensen—as his bodyguard—would ask him to do.

The reasons why shouldn’t matter. Even if he thinks he understands them all too well when they’re finally alone together at night, locked inside one of their rooms, naked and sweating against the sheets. 

 

It’s been several days, and Jared’s done nothing except stay at home. The police are conducting their investigation, and the threat seems distant, far away, when Jensen’s so close by his side. It leaves them with nothing else but time to spend together.

It’s incredible, the way Jensen is with him—the way he looks at Jared, touches him, the way the need builds between them all day long, exploding when they’re finally alone and safe. Rough or gentle, sometimes both, and it doesn’t matter which; he can _feel_ Jensen there with him, just as much a part of it as he is.

Everything feels perfect, and Jared’s practically high on it for the first week. 

The first twinge of anything else, when it comes, is a surprise. 

 

They’re in Jensen’s room and Jared’s lying on the bed, leafing slowly through the folder Mike gave Jensen while Jensen does something on his laptop. Jared squints at the pictures, at the text flowing across the pages, reliving his own history, wondering vaguely what Jensen must have thought as he read through it. 

It strikes him then, like it hasn’t before, that Jensen knows so much. Everything about Jared, everything of note, is in here; people, places, important moments. Jensen knows almost everything there is to know about him… and Jared… still doesn’t know anything more about Jensen than he did when Jensen was a complete stranger.

Well. He knows one thing. But he’d had to find that on his own, and he still doesn’t know exactly what it means.

It settles in slowly, creeping around the edges at first. The memory of that image in Jensen’s wallet; beautiful man with a wide smile and riveting faded blue eyes, his arm wrapped around Jensen like it belonged there.

Jared shuts the file and rolls over on the bed. 

“What are you doing?”

“Surfing porn,” Jensen answers in a wry tone of voice. 

Jared grins despite himself. He can see, if he inches his head just a little bit to the left, that Jensen’s doing nothing of the sort; checking his email, from the looks of it.

It’s probably all business, because, well, it’s Jensen. But Jared can’t help wondering. Is there… maybe an email in there from the mystery guy on the beach? Do they still talk? If he’d meant enough once for Jensen to still be carrying that picture… does he still mean something?

It shouldn’t matter. Jensen’s here with him, and he only has to roll over on his side, press his thigh against Jensen’s back to feel Jensen relax just the tiniest bit.

He thinks about the information in the file… all of his relationships played out against the Hollywood backdrop, pictures and notations, and it’s… it’s never been anything like this. Just lying on the bed pressed up against someone while they check their email, trading words like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like neither one of them has something to protect. Like they’re both just enjoying each other’s company. 

That should be enough. Shouldn’t it?

Jared turns his face against the comforter and tucks his cheek into the crook of his elbow.

It should be.

 

Another day passes with pondering, and then he can’t think at all when it ends and they get back to Jensen’s room, because Jesus _fuck_.

Jensen climbs on top of him and rides his cock, stomach muscles rippling, thumbs buried between Jared’s shoulders and neck, slow, tight squeezing rhythm around his cock, and Jensen feels so fucking _perfect_. Jared’s not going to last a minute more like this; Jensen’s body sheathed in sweat like oil over every muscle, shaking and shivering and riding him with sharp twists of his hips.

“Fuck.” Word whispered out against his mouth, teeth seizing and pulling, and Jared’s hands close mindlessly, nails digging into Jensen’s hips, driving up to meet him. Slick spill of Jensen’s come all over his belly and he’s gone—coming inside the clutch of Jensen’s body.

They’re both breathing hard, wrapped around each other, coming down slow.

“You know… all the people I’ve dated…” Jared shakes his head. “It was never like this.”

“Like what?” Jensen asks, words murmured into Jared’s throat.

Jared rolls his lower lip under his teeth, letting it free slowly. “Honest,” he finally whispers.

He can feel Jensen pause, the span of stillness where Jensen doesn’t breathe. And then those hands rise, caressing his face, pulling him into a slow kiss. 

When Jared closes his eyes, he can still see that pretty, anonymous, angular face, catching the slanting light of late afternoon, faded eyes and gorgeous smile. 

_Who was he, Jensen? Why won’t you tell me?_

“What about you?” Jared asks, breathing in slow.

“I never had much time for dating,” Jensen answers after a moment.

“So you’ve…” Jared traces his fingers up the length of Jensen’s back, “never really cared about anyone?”

Jensen turns his face to the side, cheek gliding over Jared’s chest. “Not in a long while.”

Jared’s hands pause against Jensen’s skin. “So you have?”

Jensen lifts his head, eyes narrowing on Jared with a mix of humor and sharp intelligence, one corner of his mouth curling. “You don’t really think I’m heartless, do you?”

Jared really doesn’t. He _knows_ Jensen isn’t heartless; he can feel it, see it, taste it. But this is the closest Jensen’s ever gotten to admitting he’s even had a past. Jared feels so close to him, hands on skin, still inside him, those eyes dancing darkly as they regard him—but there’s still so much Jensen hasn’t _said_. 

“No.” He wraps his arms around Jensen’s shoulders, drawing Jensen in, and closes his eyes.

He can still see the light in those blue eyes, so fierce; that dazzling, insouciant grin.

 

It’s mid-afternoon and they’re in the gym, and Jensen is watching Jared work out. Jared’s about halfway through his routine, curling weights to his chest, dressed in a pair of shorts and a white tank top that he’s practically sweating through. Jensen’s busy watching the rest of the room around Jared, because looking at him directly for more than a second or two could be distracting. As it is, he’s completely aware of every movement Jared is making, the rustle of his shorts against his legs, every breath drawn in time with the weights he’s lifting.

Jared seems involved in what he’s doing, caught up in the rhythm of routine, and that’s good. That means things are as normal as they can be. Having all this time almost totally alone together, Jared staying home, set closed down… it’s what he would have wished for a month ago; time and peace to do his job, enough professional distance between them that things would go smoothly. But this isn’t professional. It’s a subtle thing, this distance growing between them that’s evident mostly in Jared’s silences, his long, wondering looks. Jensen can feel the tension building between them, thick and sticky on the air, implicit in every word that isn’t said.

Jensen’s not stupid. He’s been seeing the cues Jared’s been throwing at him clear as day. In the four years since he left the Navy, Jensen has never had a good enough reason to talk about his past. He’s never felt anyone needed to know anything about him beyond his résumé and his competence. That’s never been a problem until now.

The questions in Jared’s eyes never went away, and Jensen can feel them growing stronger. Jared’s going to start asking, sooner or later.

He’ll deal with that, if and when he has to. For now, things are settling in, and he’s content to let it go, to strive for something approaching normal.

Jared grunts as he exhales, and Jensen glances over, takes in Jared’s form, eyes drawn to the line of Jared’s throat, sweat trickling down the perfect ridge of his pulse, sliding into the glistening pool gathering in the hollow of his throat.

This sort of attention to detail is definitely _not_ approaching normal.

His phone rings in his pants pocket, and he reaches for it without hesitation, suddenly glad for the interruption. One glance at the screen tells him it’s Ethan calling, and he slides his thumb across the screen, pulling the phone to his ear.

“Mr. Anderson?”

“Mr. Ackles? I’m sorry to interrupt you.”

Ethan’s voice is strained, and Jensen straightens, every instinct and sense rising to a sharp edge as he tilts his ear closer to the phone. “What is it?”

Ethan only hesitates for a moment. “There’s another letter.”

“Where are you?”

“In my office.”

“I’ll be right there,” Jensen says, hanging up.

He calls Colin on his earpiece, watching as Jared eyes him questioningly, sweat standing out in hard shine against the ripple of his muscles as he curls his forearms to his chest, barbells clenched in each fist. Jensen shakes his head at Jared, putting him off for a moment while he finishes talking to Colin.

“Finish your workout,” he tells Jared when he breaks the connection. “I can handle this.”

Jared frowns, arms rising and falling in perfect tandem, and then he nods.

Jensen waits for Colin to arrive, and the second he does, Jensen makes his way to Ethan’s office as quickly as he can.

It’s only a minute or so later that Jensen pushes the doors to Ethan’s office open—one minute and thirteen seconds, his brain insists, and he learned to keep the clock in his head instead of on his wrist years ago, but that’s really not the point. The amount of time elapsed in getting here isn’t going to make a damned bit of difference to the note. 

And yet there’s just the tiniest part of him that insists that it _could_. Jensen finds that even more troubling than whatever might be written on the page, and he stomps on the feeling, shoves it aside.

Ethan’s standing by the window, staring down at the view below, one arm folded across his chest, elbow of the other resting on it, tip of one finger curling, pushed between his teeth as he bites down, chewing on it. His face is deeply lined by the afternoon light, jagged shadows and harsh sun catching the contours.

“Mr. Anderson?” he asks, stepping inside and letting go of the handles, doors swinging slowly shut behind him.

“I really need to develop a better vice,” Ethan sighs, pulling his hand from his mouth, running it through his thinning hair. “I’m not going to have any fingers left at this rate.”

Jensen steps deeper into the room, clasping his hands behind his back. “You have the note?”

“It’s on the desk,” Ethan says, gesturing behind himself in that direction without turning. 

On the desk, set just in front of the vacant chair, there’s a plain white envelope with a note next to it. 

“It came in the mailbox just like that,” Ethan adds, and Jensen feels a weight settle in the pit of his stomach.

Jensen walks around the desk and picks up the envelope with delicate fingers. It’s completely blank on the outside, nothing but a ragged seam where it’s been opened in the back, and he holds it open, sees that it’s empty before he sets it back down. The note is folded in thirds, top and bottom half folded inward and hiding the text within. He picks it up between the first seam, thumb pushing the top back, gravity pulling down the rest.

It’s simple, short, to the point. No pictures. No fanfare. Familiar letters clipped from headlines and glossy magazine pages.

_“I’ll destroy everything you love”_

It’s perfect in its chilling simplicity. It’s also completely out of character for someone who’s supposed to be a contracted killer. A professional would care nothing for hurting Jared beyond the obvious assassination he’d been contracted for. But then, a contracted killer wouldn’t have sent pictures of Jared marked up as if for slaughter, either.

None of this makes sense. Unless the killer is getting paid extra to screw with Jared’s head, and at this point, Jensen’s convinced that must be the case.

“He’s messing with us,” Jensen says after a moment, studying the letters. “There’s no other explanation.”

“I’m glad you’re so convinced,” Ethan remarks, dry.

Jensen glances over at Ethan, already beginning to re-fold the note. “I’ll put double guard on you, Mr. Anderson, don’t worry. I’ll also see to it that Ms. Steel has extra protection, just in case.”

Ethan nods, turning slowly towards Jensen, afternoon sunlight streaming through the window around his silhouette. “Thank you, Mr. Ackles. That’s all well and good, you watching over us,” Ethan says, stepping forward far enough that Jensen can finally see his face in the dim lamp light of the room, eyes scrutinizing. “But who watches over you?”

“Me?” Jensen echoes, frowning. He slides the letter back into the envelope, holding the weight of it between his hands as he lifts his chin, meeting Ethan’s gaze head on. “What do you mean?”

Ethan’s chuckle is dry as rustling leaves. “I’m an old man, Mr. Ackles, and I do my best to play my part, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I’ve known Jared for a long time, and I’ve been around a lot longer than that. The way Jared looks at you… he cares about you, and judging by the way you look back, you care about him, too.”

It’s not as if he expected what’s going on between them to escape the notice of anyone in the household. He’s not ready to get into the specifics of it with Ethan, but he knows what’s required. “I assure you, Mr. Anderson, I’m quite capable of doing my job--”

Ethan actually laughs, harsh cough sputtered out, just barely caught against his hand. “You need to be _alive_ to do your job, Mr. Ackles.”

Jensen pulls his chin in, tilting his head slightly to one side, eyes narrowing on the older man. “Are you saying--”

“I’m saying Jared cares about you,” Ethan says firmly, cutting Jensen off. “I can’t say from love, but I can say I’ve never seen him like this over anyone before.” Ethan inclines his head towards the note. “And given what that says… shouldn’t _you_ be worried?”

Dammit. This. This is what happens when he gets involved. 

“We can hire another bodyguard. Jared isn’t replaceable… and neither are you,” Ethan adds meaningfully.

That… isn’t exactly the response he’d expected, and it isn’t the kind of response that’s going to be conducive to Jensen doing his job. He needs to keep this professional. “No one outside this house knows about our personal involvement,” Jensen says. “And while I appreciate the sentiment, Mr. Anderson, I can look after myself.” 

Ethan mutters something under his breath that Jensen can’t quite make out--but he’s been called a stubborn asshole enough times in his life to get the gist of that tone. He’s as prepared to ignore it now as he’s ever been. There’s no point in arguing it; it’s true.

“I’ll be able to do a better job if everyone _doesn’t_ focus on me as a personal aspect of this situation.”

Ethan finally sighs, nodding as he chews at his lower lip. “As long as you know you might be in the crosshairs,” he hedges.

Jensen can’t help the bitter smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You hired me to _be_ in the crosshairs.”

“And when you took the job, there was nothing to keep any of us from wanting you there.”

He could protest—he wants to. But he can already see how much good it would do it him.

He’s surprised by the amount of emotion he can see in Ethan. Other than that, he isn’t sure how he feels about it. “I’ll take that under advisement,” Jensen replies. 

A moment passes, the two of them just looking at each other across the sun-filled room. Then Ethan nods, and Jensen looks away, turning towards the desk and gathering up the envelope. “I’ll see that this gets to my contacts.”

“Please do.”

“If anything turns up, I’ll let you know.” Jensen tucks the envelope into his inner jacket pocket. He’s almost to the door when Ethan speaks again.

“Mr. Ackles…” Ethan starts to say, and then stops. “Jensen,” he says instead, after a moment. “Be careful.”

“I always am,” Jensen replies, and opens the door to the hall.

 

It’s not the specific message of Ethan’s words that goes with him. It’s the sentiment behind them.

He was a soldier; now he’s a bodyguard. He’s _always_ been a target. This is no different. 

He’s not much for second thoughts, or second guessing. He goes with his gut. Jensen’s best in the moment, dealing with situations. Problem solving applied to the physical world. It’s what he excels at. They don’t teach you about emotion in the military beyond repressing it, and even if they did—even if they _could_ \--it’s not as if there’s an instruction manual for dealing with it. It’s messy, and unpredictable, and he’s no better at it than any other human being on the face of the earth. It’s something best left for another time, a separate place. 

Ethan is fine. He can separate Ethan from the job. But what Ethan had said about Jared…

He…

He clamps down on the thought. He can’t afford doubt. He’s going to have to adapt, find a way to merge this thing with Jared and the function he’s supposed to be performing.

_“This ‘thing’? Oh, that’s cute, Jensen.”_

Jensen kicks the gravelly voice to the back of his mind. It goes obediently enough, note in his hand solidifying the moment, setting him straight on his course.

There’s a camera posted on the mailbox, and he radios Victor and asks for the recording. He makes the phone calls next, and then he packages the envelope with the note inside it carefully, and has Chad drive him to the post office to see the Express envelope off personally. He has a picture of it on his phone, and that’s as close as Jared needs to get to it. 

The video turns out to be exactly the disappointment he’d expected. There’s the night, the empty road and nothing else for hours, and then at 2:04 a.m., the camera cuts out, going to static. Three minutes, no longer, barely enough time for the security monitoring the cameras to assemble. 

Definitely a professional, with all the equipment and knowledge afforded to an assassin.

It’s edging into evening when Jensen’s finished everything he has to do. Jared’s in Jensen’s room, waiting for him, and even though it’s his room… Jensen nods to Oliver, who’s standing just off to the side, and knocks once on the door, knuckles grazing the wood.

Jensen can barely hear Jared call out ‘come in’ through the thick mahogany of the door.

Jared’s lying on the bed, sprawled out over his computer when Jensen opens the door. Jared turns as Jensen steps inside, rolling over and shutting the laptop. He sits up, lifting the computer as he moves, setting it on the night table.

“Jensen,” Jared says, rising from the edge of the bed. He runs his hands down his thighs, smoothing out the lines of his silk pajamas. They’re dark navy blue silk, nothing but the tanned expanse of Jared’s skin above the waistline, narrow waist and broad chest. He looks gorgeous as Jensen walks to meet him.

“What happened?”

“He sent another note.” Jensen pauses, gauging Jared’s reaction. He can see Jared tense, face going guarded. 

“What did it say?” Jared asks, and there’s a hard edge to his voice, hazel eyes sharp.

The fear lurking beneath the set of Jared’s expression bothers Jensen more than it should. “Don’t take it too seriously,” Jensen tells him, moving up close beside Jared until their shoulders are touching. He glances up sidelong at Jared. “He’s playing with you at this point.” Jensen waits until Jared gives him a slow nod, and then he pulls his phone from his pocket. He can feel the tension rise in Jared as the image appears on the screen, and he has to focus on the screen instead of Jared’s face.

“It’s for show,” Jensen adds, pressing the button that closes down the image. “His finesse with the surveillance camera supports him being a professional. A professional wouldn’t be out to kill other people just to hurt you. Which means all of this… is either part of the game he likes to play, or he’s being paid extra to scare you. Either way, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?” Jared asks, and Jensen can feel Jared’s breath against his cheek, hear the note of hope in Jared’s voice.

Jensen runs his finger along the edge of his phone, and then slides it into his pants pocket. “As sure as I can be. I’ve already made the calls to put extra security on Mr. Anderson and Ms. Steel, just in case.”

Jared’s silent for a long moment, and Jensen cuts his eyes to the side, glancing up at him.

“You… don’t think he’ll come after you?” Jared asks. The way Jared’s looking at him, eyes curious and gentle, head tilted, hair swinging down around the curve of his cheek, puts a slant on the words that Jensen’s not prepared for. Surprise hits him all over again, square in the chest. Ethan saying this is one thing, but if Jared is asking him the same thing, then…

“No,” Jensen says, and takes a breath. 

“Is that because you don’t think he’s serious…?” Jared asks, stepping around Jensen until he’s facing him, hazel eyes intent. “Or because you don’t think you’re important enough for him to come after?”

Jensen hesitates far longer than he wants to before he answers, “Both.” 

“I’m pretty sure the second part isn’t true,” Jared says, softly.

Jensen’s quiet for a long moment, considering the implications of that statement. “I appreciate that,” he says, finally. “But this is exactly why we shouldn’t have gotten involved. It confuses things.”

Jared shakes his head, hair framing his face. “Jensen,” Jared says, taking a step closer. “Why are you here?”

Jensen lifts his chin and meets Jared’s eyes evenly. “Because I’m your bodyguard.”

Jared breathes in, fingertips sliding along Jensen’s jaw, cupping his face. He tilts Jensen’s jaw up, licking a stripe along the edge of Jensen’s lower lip, bare chest pressing against Jensen. “Tell me that’s the only reason you’re here. Tell me,” the words are a taunt, soft challenge thrown in a whisper. “And I’ll leave right now.”

He _should_. But God, looking at Jared is like staring into the sun right now, and he can’t. He doesn’t even want to.

“You wouldn’t leave if I was paying _you_ ,” words breathed into Jared’s mouth as he reaches up, slides his fingers through that long, thick hair, yanks him down and pushes up, mouths crushing together as he spins them around, Jared’s back slamming into the wall. Jared’s hands pull him in, mouth sweet and desperate, Jared’s knees bending, shoulders sliding down the wall as Jensen holds him there, thigh pushing between Jared’s.

Jared’s head snaps back, teeth biting into his lower lip, hips bucking helplessly into Jensen. “Neither would you.” Jared grabs him by the shoulders and spins them around again, Jensen crushed between the wall and Jared’s weight. Jared’s rocking into him, cock hard and ready, rubbing against him through the thick silk and the material of his pants, hands gripping his shoulders, and it’s so good. Hot, wet mouth, kissing him, hips grinding him into the wall, slow and easy, and he wants…

He _wants_.

“Bed,” he breathes, tearing his mouth from Jared’s. “Now.”

Jensen pushes off the wall, grabbing Jared by the hips and spinning him back around, shoving him in the direction of the bed. He falls in after Jared, landing on hard muscle, Jared clutching him close, hips rocking into the hard, hot length of Jared’s cock, hands running up Jared’s sides, thumbing at the dips and curves of his musculature. God, he’s so hot, arching underneath Jensen, wanting him, almost begging for him.

Thighs spreading for him, wrapping around him, and he can’t stand it anymore; sliding down, biting hard against Jared’s stomach, stripping away his pants. Nipping against the inside of Jared’s thigh, muscle twitching, breath hitching in Jared’s chest, hands closing around Jensen’s head and pulling him closer. 

Jensen trails his tongue along the underside of Jared’s cock, swirling up under the crown, and Jared’s hands tighten on him, every muscle in Jared’s body tensing as he sucks in a sharp breath and holds it. Jared goes completely still as Jensen wraps his mouth around the head of Jared’s cock, lips locking just under the heart-shaped crown.

“Jensen,” Jared hisses, whole body shivering as he pushes up from the bed. Jensen grabs him by the hip and pushes him back down against the mattress, thumb digging just under the ridge of Jared’s hipbone as he holds Jared there, mouth sliding slow down the length, tongue melting against hot, smooth skin. Jared tastes like salt, faint taste of soap just beneath, and the way Jared twists underneath him, shuddering and cursing and _pleading_ with Jensen is beyond hot, and he wants to give Jared every single thing he’s begging Jensen for, but this is another thing he hasn’t done in longer than he cares to think about, and he wants to take his _time_.

He does, sucking, licking, teasing until Jared’s jerking helplessly underneath him, strung out and practically senseless with need. Jensen pulls away finally, licking the taste of Jared from his lips, and strips out of his clothes, Jared cursing him and urging him to hurry. Jensen falls on top of Jared, grabbing him by the shoulders and spinning them both over. Jared doesn’t hesitate, kissing Jensen quickly, mouth searing hot before he pulls away down Jensen’s body, tongue trailing behind, tracing a light line down the center of Jensen’s cock before Jared pushes his legs up.

Jared tongues him open with quick, deep thrusts, tongue curling and swirling inside Jensen until he’s pushing his hips up from the bed. Jared doesn’t waste any time, and Jensen doesn’t mind a bit, sweet sting and stretch as Jared pushes inside him, long, slow slide until their hips touch. Jared breathes out, hissing and shivering, and then his mouth seals over Jensen’s, arms locked around each other, no space between them at all. Jared starts to move, hips dragging back and then driving into him, quick and deep.

Jensen knows Jared’s not going to last very long, too worked up for too long, and Jensen urges him on until Jared’s fucking Jensen with hard, deep, ragged thrusts, head of his cock bumping and dragging against the sweet spot until they’re both on edge, Jensen’s hand sliding down between them and wrapping around his cock. He comes with a sudden sharp burst, whole body tightening down, and then Jared’s gasping into his mouth, pushing over right behind him, both of them twisting and straining against each other, hands slipping against sweaty skin. They ride it out that way, muscles rippling with stuttering rhythm until they both finally relent, bodies falling slack against the bed.

A few long, silent minutes pass, Jared’s weight comfortable against his chest as their hearts slow, breathing evening out.

“So you’d really die for me?” Jared asks, lifting his face to look at Jensen.

Jensen can’t say he didn’t see this one coming, especially given the conversation they had just before this. It’s the million dollar question, the one that everyone asks him sooner or later. But Jensen’s never had someone ask him while they were still inside him, lying with him in bed. They’re so close together, Jared’s heartbeat thudding against his ribcage, both of them sweating and sated and comfortable.

“If it comes to that, yes.” He nods. It’s the same answer he’s always given. It’s the truth. And yet it’s strange, saying it here, like this.

“ _Why?_ ” Jared asks, shaking his head like he can’t fathom it. “Why is _my_ life worth more than yours? And don’t tell me it’s because I’m paying you for it. No amount of money is worth dying over.”

Jensen licks his lips slowly, and though he already knows the answer, he debates his words for a long time. He’s never told anyone ‘why’. His reasons are personal, private; no one else needs to know. But he’s satisfied and tired, and he’s lying here with Jared, and Jared’s looking at him with so much genuine, heartfelt curiosity. He’s been dodging Jared’s questions for so long now… maybe he can give Jared this.

“Dozens of reasons,” he finally says. “Every single one of them wrapped in a body bag.”

If Jared’s surprised by the admission, it doesn’t show in his face. Jared’s eyes are soft, solemn as he regards Jensen. “Is it… I mean, wasn’t it what you wanted to do? When you started out?”

God, he’d been so young. Thinking back now, it seems impossible that he’d thought he’d known what he wanted, that he’d thought he’d been anywhere near qualified to make his own decisions about his life. But back then, eighteen and fresh out of high school, he’d known what he’d wanted with complete certainty.

“It was. I _wanted_ to be a hero. Serve my country with the best of the best.” Jared’s still just looking at him, waiting patiently for him to say more, and Jensen shrugs, eyes trailing away from Jared. This is further than he’d wanted to go, memories beginning to rise up out of the past like specters, hazy and indistinct. He shoves them back and answers the questions instead, words given with a bitterness he can taste on his tongue. “What they don’t tell you about being a hero… is that you have to live with what you’ve done.” 

Jared is very still for a moment, their breathing the only sound between them, and then Jared’s thumb twitches against his shoulder, rubbing over the skin, slow and gentle. 

“So this is… your way of making up for what you did?” Jared asks, words chosen carefully, voice hesitant.

Jensen’s mouth thins into a line, eyes narrowing a fraction on the shadowy corner of the room. “More or less.” 

Jared’s silent for a moment, and then Jensen can see Jared nod from the edge of his vision. “It’s okay.” Hands rising, palms cupping Jensen’s jaw, kissing him. “I don’t care what you did before,” tongue swirling, licking out slow. “It’s not who you are.”

Sweet words, and he wants to believe them. “It will always be part of who I am.”

“Not the biggest part.”

Jared will see what he wants to see, but Jensen knows the truth of it. It’s a bigger part of him than Jared will ever know.

“Are you afraid? Of dying?” Jared’s voice is a bare whisper, mouth gliding across his, face lifting just enough to look Jensen in the eye.

Jensen thinks of the rifle in his hands, smooth metal settled against his shoulder, cool against his cheek, finger wrapped around the trigger. Memory formed with years and he can almost feel the weight of it, phantom presence that always lingers, never straying far. He stared down that long sight so many times, saw so many faces through its focus.

There is a fragility to bone when it shatters; white, jagged shards pushed out through skin torn apart like tissue paper. Jensen knows intimately the way it takes shape; the way tiny fragments fly free in a spatter of red. Heart still striving to beat and body already dead—just too quick to know it yet. It’s different, every time. A different pattern, fractals and ideograms of blood and fractured bone painted over skin, each death unique, individual.

One thing is sure on the other end of a sniper’s rifle; death will come—as quickly and cleanly as possible. But in the end, it’s always the same. For all his skill and art, it’s still death, and Jensen has seen its face painted in Rorschach inkblots, in gouts and puddles a thousand times. 

“No,” he answers, shaking his head.

He’s not scared of death anymore. He only wonders how it will come for him. Whether or not death will come with vengeance and retribution for all the lives he’s stolen. If it will take him slow, and make him beg.

He thinks it will. He’s sure it won’t be as clean and merciful as the bullets he’s fired from his gun. He accepted that a long time ago.

Memories of faded-blue eyes pushing through, the sensation of rough, callused hands against his skin. Angry words so cold that they’d burned—

“What are you thinking about?” Jared asks, softly. 

The words shatter the moment, memories scattering and dispersing. Jensen takes a deep breath, pushing his barriers back into place with an effort. God. He’s tired. It’s been a long day.

“Nothing.” Jensen shakes his head. 

Jensen can see the sadness in Jared’s eyes, the slight furrow of confusion settling between his brows. It’s obvious that Jared wants him to keep talking, but he really can’t. He isn’t ready to tell the whole story, and every time he opens his mouth, he gets just the slightest bit closer to having to explain everything.

“It’s late,” he says quietly as he rolls Jared over, weight settling in against Jared’s body. “We should sleep.” 

He pulls his hips away from Jared slowly, biting down against his lip as Jared slides free. He rolls the condom off of Jared’s softening cock and tosses it into the waste basket near the bed, weight slowly sliding off slightly to one side. He leaves half of his upper body slung across Jared’s, arm bending at the elbow, fingertips settling along the line of Jared’s collarbone. He turns his face and presses a quick kiss against Jared’s throat and feels Jared shiver, shifting underneath him. 

Jensen hovers on the verge of sleep, waiting for the tension to slide from Jared’s muscles, little by little, the way it normally does. Long minutes pass, stretching over the silence between them, the sound of their breathing not quite in tandem, rhythm not quite as regular as it should be. 

Jensen hasn’t said enough, and Jared isn’t going to relax. He can feel it in the instant before Jared draws a deep breath, can almost sense the intent before Jared speaks.

“Who was he, Jensen?” The question is low, almost soft.

“Who was who?” Jensen asks, frowning as his eyes open, perplexed by the question.

Jared hesitates, and then finally sighs, sounding resigned. “The guy who hurt you. The one you were thinking about. The one you never talk about.”

The words hang there for a moment between them, and for those long few seconds, there’s nothing; blank silence, brain ticking like a car engine that refuses to start, trying to make sense of it. His heart understands easily enough though—it thuds in his chest, skipping a beat, and he stiffens, turning his face against Jared’s shoulder as his mind catches up. 

“What makes you think--” he begins.

“Was he a SEAL, too?” Jared cuts him off, and Jensen can _hear_ the knowledge in Jared’s voice. 

Any languor left in him flees instantly and anger courses through him, sudden and hot, curdling in his veins. “What do you know?” Jensen demands as he lifts his face to meet Jared’s eyes.

Jared won’t look at him, hazel eyes cutting down and to the side. “I’m just guessing.”

Jensen can see the deception in him—could see it even if he wasn’t looking with the eyes of a professional who’s been trained to find it. “ _Don’t_. Lie to me.”

“I…” Jared starts, and then stops, biting his lower lip. “I _am_ guessing.”

There’s truth enough in that, but it’s not the whole story. “Based on what?” Jensen hisses.

“Because I… there was a picture…” Jared trails off, biting his lower lip.

It all clicks into place then, but Jensen doesn’t want to believe it. Doesn’t want to believe it just as much as he’s sure it’s true. “Did you… go through my _wallet_?”

Jared’s face crumples with guilt, and Jensen feels it like a stab through the heart, watching as Jared’s lower lip firms, whole expression settling into annoyance.

“I just wanted to know more about you. Come on, Jensen. I’ve seen the file Mike gave you. You know everything about me. I barely know anything about you.”

“So you went digging for information?” Jensen asks hotly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ever think about _asking_ me?”

“I’m asking you now,” Jared says, eyes finally leveling on Jensen.

No. He can’t accept that—not about _this_. There are lines and then there are _lines_.

Jensen shakes his head in disbelief. “You should have asked me _before_ if you were that curious.”

Jared just looks at him, lips parted like he wants to say something, anything, but it wouldn’t matter what he said, and the look in Jared’s eyes tells him Jared damned well knows it.

Jensen shoves away from him, rolling to the edge of the bed and sitting up. 

He can feel Jared sit up, lunging after him. “Jensen.”

“Get out,” Jensen grates, fingers clenching against his palms.

Jared seems stunned into silence then, and Jensen can imagine the expression on his face all too well, can almost _see_ Jared debating the severity of Jensen’s anger, considering the options he has left.

“Jensen--”

“Get the fuck out. Now,” Jensen snarls.

Jared hesitates a few seconds longer, and then he slowly rises from the bed. Jensen can feel the moment Jared’s weight leaves the bed completely, can hear him walk across the carpet, the rustling sound of silk as he stops, pulling on his pajama pants before he leaves.

When he’s gone, it’s not nearly soon enough.

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

It takes Jensen almost an hour after Jared leaves to settle back into his skin, before he can relax and lie back down against the bed. Sleep, when it finally comes, occurs by sheer force of will and nothing else.

He wakes after five hours and shoves away the thoughts that immediately want to intrude. He goes through his morning ritual, feeling the weight of what happened last night wanting to push through the barrier, but there’s no way in hell he’s letting that happen. Jared has an early call to set today, and Jensen still has work to do.

He did his job last night when Jared left, radioing Oliver to make sure that Jared made it to his own room, and that there’d be someone standing guard outside. Now it’s morning, and he has to deal with the situation himself.

He will. It’s what he does. And it’s what Jared is paying him for, after all. 

He opens the door, set to his purpose, and steps into the hall.

 

Jared gets about an hour of sleep before his alarm goes off, and he wakes up with a groan, hands rubbing his face as he sits up. The same thoughts that kept him awake all night assault him instantly, brain rattling with the impact as they pick up right where they left off.

So fucking _stupid_. 

He’s up and out of bed in an instant and into the bathroom. He turns the water on, running a hand under the faucet before he reaches for the knob to turn on the shower. It’s still not warm enough when he steps under it, skin bursting into goose bumps, and he bites back against the feeling, reaching down and adjusting the temperature again. He rushes through showering, tucking a towel around his waist as he cuts the water and steps out, body still dripping. His hair is still too wet, droplets running down his face, and he reaches for the hand towel by the sink, rubbing it across his hair, around behind the curve of his skull before he tosses it on the vanity counter. Shaving takes way too long, and he nicks his throat with the razor, hissing in a breath before he rips a tiny pinch of toilet paper from the roll, pressing it to the wound. Clothing is pulled from drawers without much consideration—he’s going to have to change when he gets to the set anyway—and he tugs his jeans up over his hips, buttoning them quickly, yanking a t-shirt over his head. 

He’s downstairs, on the verge of opening the double front doors when he remembers to pull the blot of toilet paper from his neck. He rolls it into a non-existent ball that disintegrates between his fingertips, considers the doors and takes a deep breath, throwing them open. He blinks blearily against the daylight, letting his eyes adjust as he squints, walking towards the car parked just a little past the entrance.

Jensen’s already there, back turned to Jared, shoulders straight and tight, feet planted wide apart. Jared’s had all night to plan out what he wants to say, but it all evaporates the second he sees Jensen, sight leaving him wordless and breathless. All he wants to do is wrap his arms around Jensen’s body, pull him close and kiss him, _fix_ this. It’s such a desperate urgency, pulsing through him with a rush that’s total and complete; pure impulse that makes him have to stop in his tracks and just breathe for a second.

He’s had all night to plan what he wants to say, and the words are still right there, just beneath the surface. He just needs to say them, and to do that, he needs to be sane. He can’t screw this up—not any more than he already has.

He closes his eyes and exhales, steadying himself as much as he can, and then he opens his eyes again, walking around Jensen to stand between him and the car. Jared looks him right in the eyes, even though Jensen looked away like he’d never seen Jared the second Jared stepped in front of him. Jensen’s angry; of course he doesn’t want to look at Jared right now.

“I’m sorry, Jensen,” Jared says. He has all the words, but they don’t come easy. “I know I broke your trust and I’m so very sincerely, incredibly _sorry_.” Jensen’s still not looking at him, ignoring Jared like he doesn’t even exist. Jared can feel his stomach turn over, cold and sinking ever deeper as he forces himself to go on. 

“Even if I’m the kind of guy who wouldn’t bat an eye at someone I was… involved with… going through my stuff, different people have different lines, and for you, that’s one.” Jared swallows against the hard lump in his throat. “I should have thought about it harder, but I didn’t. And there’s nothing I can do except ask you to let me make it up to you.” 

Jensen’s still not looking at him, standing completely still, eyes fixed at some point over Jared’s shoulder. Jared steps to the right, planting himself in front of Jensen’s gaze. 

“All I want to do is make this right,” he whispers, hopeful.

Jensen’s eyes are like ice as they flicker up to meet Jared’s… and then he steps around Jared without a word, reaching for the handle of the car door.

No. It can’t be like this… can it? Jensen treating him like he’s a stranger? 

“Jensen,” Jared whispers, turning around, hand reaching to touch Jensen’s wrist.

Jensen yanks the car door open, tugging his hand far beyond Jared’s reach, body shielded behind the door. He doesn’t even tell Jared to get in, just waits for a few seconds, face blank and yet somehow impatient, until Jared finally takes his hand back.

As Jared climbs into the car, feeling numb, he realizes that he wasn’t prepared for this. His heart wouldn’t hurt so much if he had been.

 

It’s his first day back on set in two weeks. 

All morning, everyone’s been asking him how he is, how he’s doing, and all Jared can think about is Jensen. They’re all so concerned, practically fawning over him, and Jared feels sick with it. Even Peter meets him before make-up, asking him if he feels like he’s ready to go on, and hell no, he doesn’t feel ready to go on—he feels like he’s ready to fall apart. He’s never felt anything quite like it before, and it seems like he should remark on it, at least. Give it some kind of recognition.

But Peter’s question is a formality, and much as he loves Peter, they both know it. There’s a schedule to keep, and they’re already two weeks behind.

He feels more lost than he ever has walking onto a set.

Everyone is moving into place, bustling and busy, except for Jensen. Jensen’s standing off to one side of the cameras, hands clasped behind his back as he watches everyone around him. Jared watches as Jensen’s eyes make a circuit of the room, finally falling upon Jared for an instant, impassive, before he moves on.

Jared bites down against the inside of his lower lip and tries to focus on Peter as he moves into the scene.

“Kill scene is up first,” Peter says, shuffling pages of the script in his hands. “Jared, Jason, I need you in position for that. I’m assuming you both had time to go over the lines?” Peter glances up from the pages at Jason. Jason is pure arrogance as he snorts, nodding, and Peter looks at Jared next.

“Yeah,” Jared answers. He knows the lines; he’s had plenty of time to study them over the last couple of days. He knows them—he’s just not sure he can do them any justice. This scene is supposed to be a testosterone trade-off with just the slightest touch of regret, full of bravado and bigger than life. In short, it’s supposed to be “Hollywood”, and Jared isn’t feeling anything of the sort.

Everyone’s getting ready, cameramen checking and readying, sound system guys giving the go, and Jared doesn’t have the slightest clue how he’s going to pull this off.

Peter yells, “Action”, and then that’s it, there’s no more time left for thinking.

Jared’s kneeling over Jason, straddling his body, gun pressed against Jason’s forehead, staring down at him. He reaches deep, trying to find the thread for this moment, the right emotion to convey what Peter wants. All he can feel is the hurt twisting his belly into knots; all he can think is how he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life. 

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” he tells Jason, and all the regret in him, every bit of anger he feels at himself twines into the words. 

Jason’s just looking at him, genuine surprise shining through the black anger in his eyes. Jason narrows his gaze on Jared for a moment, and then his face changes, angry features shifting slightly to reveal a haunted expression that mirrors the one Jared can feel on his own face. 

“It was _always_ supposed to end like this,” Jason whispers back, vehement, almost reverent. “It was always gonna be you or me,” Jason goes on, shaking his head just slightly. “The difference between us is I always knew that.” Jason’s supposed to be playing the moment with bravado, but there’s not a trace of that in him, sad, spidery twist of a smirk flitting across Jason’s face, and he lifts his hands, wrapping them around the barrel of the gun. The move is detailed in the script, but Jason’s supposed to do it with anger over being beaten, with vengeance and madness—not like this; with complete and total acceptance, centering the barrel and leaning into the press of the muzzle, staring at Jared like he’s the only thing that exists.

It’s supposed to be a moment filled with mad triumph, satisfaction of knowing that Logan’s no different than him in the end. But it isn’t that at all. 

“See you in hell,” Jason says, and no, they’re no different at all. It’s tragic, ironic in a way that’s bigger than both of them. “Brother.”

So much history between the two characters, and it strikes Jared for the first time how sad this story is; two men, close as brothers, best friends turned rivals and enemies. One so obsessed with the other, the other carrying so much guilt that neither one could ever move on.

“Meet you there,” Jared whispers back, words catching in his throat, staring at Jason. 

He pulls the trigger and doesn’t blink. 

Jared holds the moment for a few, long seconds, and then he leans forward, elbows drawing upwards, both hands clasped around the gun. He brings it to his face, cheek pressing against the back of the barrel as his eyes close tight.

There’s a long silence, reality slowly creeping back in around the edges of Jared’s awareness. No one’s saying anything, and this is the end of the scene, and he’s pretty sure they fucked it up spectacularly.

“Cut,” Peter yells, belatedly, and Jared pushes off the balls of his feet, rising up and reaching a hand out to Jason. Jason looks at him for a moment, and then he clasps Jared’s hand, pulling himself to his feet with Jared as his anchor. Jason holds on to Jared’s hand a few seconds longer than necessary, and he’s a lot closer to Jared than Jared remembers him being in a really long time. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at Jared with a slight rise to his dark brows, eyes looking Jared up and down with an air of appraisal that leaves Jared vaguely uncomfortable.

“Nice work, Jared,” Jason says.

Jared clears his throat. “Not so bad yourself. Thanks for rolling with me.”

“Jared, Jason, that was… _intense_ ,” Peter says as he walks up, slinging an arm around each of them. “Great acting. I think it might even work. Let’s take twenty while I review it. You two go regroup, and then we’ll come back and shoot it the way the script says so we can have both.” He claps them both on the back and then turns, yelling to the crew to take a break.

“You two should play nice more often,” Peter tells them with one last pat against their shoulders before he walks away. Jason cuts Jared a sidelong glance, dirty smirk tilting the corner of his mouth, and all of a sudden, everything clicks into place.

There was a lot of chemistry in that scene, the two of them working together and playing off each other for once instead of playing _against_ each other. But he hadn’t meant for…

He turns, looking for Jensen, and Jensen is standing exactly where Jared saw him last, still as a statue, face so smooth and expressionless it could be carved from marble. Jensen’s finally looking at him, and Jared’s seen pictures of glaciers that looked warmer.

Christ. He’s not sure he could fuck this up any more if he was trying.

Jensen looks away, moving towards the prop people with a tight, controlled step, and says something to one of the guys that Jared can’t hear. 

Twenty minutes isn’t long enough to go to his trailer, so he takes a deep breath and walks behind the set background, hand wrapping around one of the support poles. He’s still standing there when Peter yells for everyone to get to their places.

 

The next take isn’t any easier for Jared, so conscious of how he’s interacting with Jason that he can’t quite get the nuances of emotion right. Frustrated, Peter finally calls for lunch, and Jared hurries out of the studio. The sunlight is bright and harsh in his sleep-deprived eyes, and he squints against it as he walks to his trailer. Jensen is just beside him, trailing slightly, and Jared can see him out of the corner of his eye, hear the crunch of his shoes against the gravel, and it hurts, having him so close and not being able to talk to him.

Jensen goes in first, checking as he goes, and Jared waits, following slowly and impatiently behind until he’s finally far enough inside that he can shut the door behind them both.

“Jensen,” he breathes, shaking his head, hands flexing open and then shut, helpless. Jared reaches out, just touching the edge of Jensen’s suit jacket at the shoulder. Jensen turns slowly to look at him, Jared’s hand falling away with the movement, and Jared searches those cool, impassive eyes for any sign of emotion.

“I need to check the rest of the trailer,” Jensen informs him. He doesn’t wait for Jared to speak; just turns back around and goes about his business, leaving Jared staring wordlessly at his back.

Jared feels all the breath leave him and he sags back against the trailer wall, defeated. He doesn’t understand how Jensen can be like this. Jared had gone digging through Jensen’s personal possessions, and Jared gets why he’d be pissed about that, but he doesn’t understand the sheer _magnitude_ of how pissed off Jensen is. He’s like a completely different person.

No. Not completely different. He’s exactly the way he was the first day he showed up on set.

Jensen has shut off. Completely shut down. And Jared feels so fucking _helpless_ , frustrated and furious with himself. Everything had been going better than he’d ever expected it to, and he’d had to screw it up. Going through Jensen’s wallet, it feels like such a _small_ thing, an unnecessary thing that he never should have done, that he’d go back and cut out now, if he could. If he’d had any idea…

Jared feels _sick_ with how sorry he is, with how much he wants— _needs_ —Jensen to talk to him. He can’t even think about lunch, and he lies down on his bed instead, sinking down into sleep so quickly he doesn’t realize it until he wakes up to the sound of his name.

“It’s time,” Jensen tells him. There’s no warmth in the words, just a simple statement of fact, and Jared sighs, dragging himself up from the bed.

He does the best he can with the scene when they get back on set, but he just… can’t get it quite right. He remembers the lines and his cues easily enough, but they’re falling flat.

“Hey,” Tom says, nudging Jared’s shoulder with his own between takes. “You okay? You’ve been kind of off all day long.”

Jared tries to summon up a smile, but he really can’t, finally shrugging. “No. Not really.”

Tom slides an arm around him, squeezing Jared’s shoulder sympathetically. “You need a night out. It’s been way too long.”

He tries to imagine how he could care about going out at this point… and then he thinks about spending the evening at home, knowing Jensen is there, so close and so far away from him, that same stony expression on his face. 

“Yeah. Maybe I do,” Jared nods.

When the shoot ends and they get to the car, Jensen doesn’t say a single word about Jared wanting to go out. He just asks Jared what time he’s planning on leaving the house, and then nods, turning to look out the window for the rest of the ride.

 

Johnny’s club is in full swing when Jared gets there, music pumping and packed wall-to-wall with people. Jensen is like a ghost, practically non-existent, trailing just to Jared’s left as they enter. When they get closer to the back hallway, Jensen stops him, nodding in that direction.

“I need to go talk to Mr. Johnson about getting linked in to their security frequency,” Jensen tells him, and Jared’s just managing to nod in response when Jensen moves past him without another glance. Jared chews at his lower lip, watching Jensen’s back disappear into the sea of bodies, and then takes a deep breath, turning to move in the direction of the bar.

“I thought that was you,” someone says, practically bowling him over as they miscalculate the distance and bump into him.

Jared grabs the guy by the shoulder, pushing him back far enough that he can see his face. Oh. Great. “Hey, Justin.”

Justin is clearly trashed, swaying unsteadily against Jared’s hand, and he’s not looking entirely pleased to see Jared.

“So why the fuck didn’t you tell me your bodyguard was your boyfriend?” Justin demands.

“He’s not my boyfriend. Or, he wasn’t then.” And still isn’t… or maybe isn’t again. Was he ever? Jared has no fucking clue. 

Justin’s eyes narrow on him, beady in the dim, flashing lights of the club. “So why did he act like that?”

He sighs, shaking his head at Justin. “It’s complicated.”

“No kidding,” Justin snorts, stirring his drink. 

That’s exactly what Jared needs right now; a drink or ten. “I could really use one of those myself,” he adds, nodding at the glass in Justin’s hand, hoping Justin will get the hint.

“Did he think I was going to beat you up or something?” Justin goes on, vaguely offended behind the drunken glaze in his eyes.

“It’s… a really long story,” Jared hedges, and on any other night, with any other person, he’d make a joke, smooth things over, hang out and chat a while, but he’s too tired and… heartsick to be able to do anything else but stand there wishing he wasn’t, that he could say anything to make Justin shut up.

“What’re you even doing with an asshole like that, Jared?”

“I guess I’m not, anymore,” he says, sarcastic and self-loathing.

“Well, good,” Justin says, missing the tone of Jared’s voice completely. “Good for you,” he adds, clapping Jared on the shoulder.

“Yeah,” Jared nods dully, throat dry. “Good for me. Listen, Justin, I’m glad we’re cool, but I’ve had an incredibly shitty day and I really need to go get a drink.”

Justin plows right over Jared’s words. “Yeah, we’re cool.” Justin claps him on the shoulder again, body swaying into Jared’s. “’Course we’re cool. Me an’ you, we go back years. But that fucking guy needs someone to put a leash on him. It’s a wonder no one’s kicked his ass yet. I mean,” Justin says, warming to the subject, hand with his drink moving through the air, liquid sloshing over the edge, “if it hadn’t been _you_ , Jay, I’d have whipped his ass myself…”

Justin continues on with his tirade, and Jared resigns himself to it.

“…and after all that, I’d have slapped him with a lawsuit the size of…”

“Maybe you could get the drink for me?” Jared asks without any hope that Justin will actually hear him. 

Jared phone vibrates in his pocket once, and he reaches for it, listening to Justin ramble on as he presses the button and the screen lights up. He glances down with disinterest…

The room goes suddenly distant, thumping music fading to dull thunder, voices all around him turned down like someone turned down the volume on a radio. All he can hear is the pounding of his heart in his ears, galloping like a racehorse, body bursting into a sudden sweat as his stomach turns inside out. His hand is shaking and he can’t read the words anymore even though he can’t tear his eyes away from the screen.

_Get your own drink, whore._

He can’t _breathe_ , whole world moving around him in slow motion, knees flooding with a warm, weak feeling.

“Jared.” From far away, he can hear someone calling him, feel a rough hand on his shoulder shaking him hard. “Jared?”

He rips his eyes from the phone in his hand, snapping to sudden awareness, world speeding up and falling back into place. He can feel the adrenaline hit his system, sharp and bitter and too hot, eyes searching the faces in the crowd all around him.

“Jared? Are you okay, dude?”

Justin’s shaking him, voice tense with concern.

“I’m fine,” he replies, brain pushing the words to his lips without a thought. “I need to go,” he hears himself say in that same calm, detached voice.

He squeezes his hand around his cell phone until it _hurts_ , stepping forward into the crowd, eyes passing over the face of every single person near him. The music warbles and thumps, room seeming to tilt lazily as he steps through it. Laser lights crisscross each other, slicing brilliantly through the smoky air, red, blue and green as they spear glass and stream over bodies. A blonde girl smiles at him with ruby red lips and perfect white teeth as Jared passes her, brushing by a man who glances at him briefly with eyes the exact same color as his longish hair. Another face, and another, and they’re all staring right at him, hiding secretive smiles, whispering things about him to the people beside them, laughing wickedly and knowingly at his expense, staring at Jared, watching him move.

He’s here. Whoever he is… He’s **right**. fucking. HERE. And Jensen isn’t.

His heart flutters like a panicked bird behind the cage of his ribs, and he surges forward through the crowd, pushing people out of his way. Someone grabs his arm and he slams his elbow backward into them in blind terror, shaking free and shoving through the person in front of him. Jensen’s name is like a signal in his head, repeating over and over, a beacon leading him to the only place he knows that’s safe.

There’s a velvet rope cutting off the back hallway from the rest of the club, with a sign posted in front of it that says “Staff Only”. He knocks over the sign as he reaches for it, fingers fumbling at the latch until it falls open. His body follows through the doorway right behind it, and he’s ten or twenty frantic steps down the hall before he comes to a sudden halt, brain finally catching up.

The hallway is completely deserted, so dark he can barely see and _he’s alone in here_. Even more alone than he was out in the club, where at least there would have been witnesses who might have kept the killer in check. He has no idea if Jensen’s even still back here, and even if he is, every single door along the hall is locked.

He’s trapped. A perfect target, gift-wrapped and delivered right into the killer’s waiting hands.

The club is a dull thrashing roar in the distance, every single one of his senses narrowing to a sharp point. His ears strain, listening, but he can barely hear above the pounding of his heart. Fear flails in his chest like a living thing, panicked, frantic voice that tells him to _run_ \--but he can’t move, feet frozen to the spot, head tilted against the air.

There’s just the barest scuffle of sound behind him, and it hits him in the gut with dead certainty, dread an implacable ball of lead inside his stomach, hairs on the back of his neck prickling, body pumping out sudden, cold sweat.

He’s not alone. 

He swallows, throat so dry that it sticks and pulls apart with a soft click. His fingers close into fists, heart trip-hammering in his chest, every nerve inside him standing on end, screaming at him to _move_. 

A hand falls on his shoulder, and everything inside him explodes, terror bursting like a bubble as he spins, fist flying out with pure, animalistic rage.

“Jared.” The voice is sharp as the crack of a whip, strong fingers closing around his wrist and pushing the punch wide. Jared stumbles forward with momentum, everything inside him on fire, other hand already moving to grab the other person by the throat and shove them down.

Fingers close around his other wrist, bringing him up just short of his target.

“It’s me,” Jensen whispers, tugging him closer. “Jared, stop. It’s me.”

The fight drains out of Jared, relief flooding through him beneath the adrenaline, leaving him light-headed. “Jensen,” he breathes. God. It’s Jensen, and thank fucking _God_.

“What is it? What happened?” Jensen demands, words clipped with urgency.

“The killer,” Jared gasps. “He’s here.”

Jensen lets go of him instantly, hand reaching inside his suit jacket. Jared can hear the click of the gun cocking echo off the hallway walls as Jensen asks, “Where?”

“Out there. In the club. I came back here looking for you. God, I thought you were him.”

Jensen turns away from him, and Jared can barely see his silhouette cut against the faint light at the end of the hall. He’s got one arm raised, leveling the gun in that direction, other hand rising to touch his ear.

“Chad. I need you in the back alley. Now. Code red.”

Jensen lets go of the earpiece and turns sideways, gun still pointing at the club. He reaches out with his free arm and guides Jared behind him, moving them both towards the wall until they’re pressed against it, Jensen shielding him. “We’re going the other way—to the exit sign,” Jensen tells him. 

Jared turns around, feels Jensen move in and settle a hand on his shoulder, Jensen’s shoulder pressing into Jared’s back, fingers warm and steady as they guide him forward, drawing Jared back as they reach the door.

“Stay behind me,” Jensen says. 

Jensen moves around him and kicks the door open, both hands on his gun as he steps forward, one foot planted in front of the edge of the door, catching it wide open, upper body moving in a half circle that encompasses the alleyway. The car is right there, taillights bright against the darkness, and Jensen pulls him towards it, body pressing close against Jared, pushing him into the side of the car, body half-covering Jared’s as he leans over and opens the door. He makes a quick sweep of the backseat with his gun before he pushes Jared into the backseat, sliding him over to make room. Jensen jumps in beside him and slams the door, yelling “Go!” at Chad.

Tires squeal as Chad peels out, throwing Jared back against the seat, and Jensen’s reaching across Jared, fingers finding the seatbelt and strapping Jared in. He doesn’t speak, putting an arm around the back of Jared’s neck, nudging Jared’s head forward and down, other arm circling in front of Jared as Jensen leans in to shield him, glancing over his shoulder out the window. The ass end of the car slides dangerously sideways as they take a tight turn, momentum throwing Jared into Jensen’s chest. Jensen’s arms creep in closer, holding Jared against him, and he can feel Jensen’s heart beating just as furiously as his own.

“Are you okay?” Jensen asks in a rough whisper.

Jared nods, temple resting against Jensen’s shoulder. 

Jensen doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t let go, either.

 

Jensen walks with Jared to his room, opens the door ahead of him and does a thorough check. When he’s finished, Jared’s just standing there, still looking pale beneath his tanned skin. 

Seeing Jared like this… what it does to Jensen… He can’t believe he’s been such an idiot. Can’t believe that he thought for a second that he could shut Jared out.

“Don’t leave,” Jared whispers.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

Jared nods slowly, taking a deep breath. “Jensen, I--”

Jensen can see the apologies in Jared’s eyes, and he steps closer, reaches out, fingers grazing Jared’s cheek, thumb settling over his lips and silencing him. “I know you’re sorry. That’s not important right now.” Thumb rubbing slow along the swell of Jared’s lower lip. “I don’t want you to even think about that right now.”

“But,” Jared begins, and Jensen presses his thumb between Jared’s parted lips, catching on the edge of his lower teeth, halting the words. 

“No.” Jensen shakes his head with the word. “Tell me what happened tonight.” He slides his thumb over the ridge of Jared’s teeth, ridges of his fingerprint catching as he pulls away.

“I…” Jared shakes his head briefly, eyes ticking left and right as he tries to gather his thoughts. “I was talking to Justin… he was asking me about what happened with you, last time. And I was… upset about last night… and barely listening, and all I wanted was a drink, and I must have mentioned it to Justin three times… and then finally, I asked him if he’d get it for me, just kidding around, because I knew he was too busy talking to listen to me… and then my… and then my phone vibrated in my pocket.”

Jensen is silent as Jared hesitates, letting Jared pull it together in his own time.

“It was a text… and you know, I figured it was probably Tom or somebody, so I just pulled it out to glance at it, and…”

Jared just looks at him, mouth working for a moment before he finally just reaches into the pocket of his jeans, tugging out his phone. He holds it out to Jensen silently, and Jensen lets his fingers slide from Jared’s face, closing around the plastic casing. 

He’s already got a _bad_ feeling about this, almost knows what the message must say before he pushes the button and touches the screen, pulling up Jared’s texts. He taps the first one, and reads the words.

_Get your own drink, whore._

His hand trembles like he’s sure Jared’s must have, although there isn’t an ounce of fear behind the sudden trembling rush of his nerves. He’s _infuriated_. 

“Jensen.” Jared’s palms close around his hand, pressing his fingers against the phone and obscuring the words. Jensen looks up, and there’s a strange glint in Jared’s eyes. “You’re shaking.” 

“He never should have gotten that close.” Jensen can hear his voice shake as badly as his hand through the low, furious words. “That he was that close...That he scared you like this,” Jensen grates. “I could kill the motherfucker with my bare hands.” His fingers clutch around the phone, squeezing it tight, wanting to crush it. He can feel the casing crack under his grip. That close. The killer had been _thatclose_ to Jared, and everything inside him is vibrating with pure rage. He’s not sure he could hold it back now even if he wanted to. 

“He could have killed you,” Jensen whispers. “While I was fifty feet away, talking to security. You could have _died_ …” Jensen breathes out, angry and filled with regret, “thinking that I hated you.” 

Jensen twists from Jared’s grip, throwing the phone against the floor, hands rising to grab Jared’s face, thumbs pushing his mouth open and kissing him hard. 

“Never thought that,” Jared gasps, whole body melting into Jensen, thumbs settling against Jensen’s jaw, fingers closing around Jensen’s neck. “God, Jensen, never. All I could think about,” he whispers, biting at Jensen’s mouth, “was finding you. Because then I knew I’d be safe.”

Jensen’s hands are still shaking as Jared pulls him in again, anger draining away as the fear finally hits him, and he pushes into the kiss with the force of his whole body behind it. Jared moans into his mouth and Jensen turns them both around, pushing Jared down against the bed and falling on top of him, their mouths still locked together. “I could have lost you,” he says, the weight of it hitting him hard as a punch to the gut, leaving him desperate and clutching at Jared, fingers curling in his hair, mouth angling, kissing down into him fiercely.

Jared’s hands shove at Jensen’s jacket, hands pushing up under the shoulders of the material, and Jensen lets go of him long enough to pull back and yank out of it. It’s fast and frantic, need and fear leaving them tearing at each other’s clothes between urgent kisses until they’re both bare, Jensen tearing his hands away from Jared long enough to roll on a condom.

“Need to feel you,” Jensen gasps, cock riding the crease of Jared’s thigh, dragging lower. “Inside and out.” Spit-slick head nudging Jared open, Jared clinging to him, arms and legs wrapped around Jensen’s body. “If anything had happened to you…” Jensen shakes his head, voice bottoming out on the last word. Jared’s staring at him with wide hazel eyes, and Jensen can feel him tremble. “I don’t even want to think about it.” Hands sliding up into Jared’s hair, kissing back down into him, and he pushes in slow, feeling Jared rise to take him, hot and tight down the length of Jensen’s cock, and God, he feels sweet, so fucking perfect. 

“Christ, Jensen,” Jared breathes, mouth a hot wet drag against Jensen’s, quivering as Jensen fills him. Jared’s so beautiful as Jensen begins to move; head thrown back, line of his throat arching against the air, eyes fluttering shut, mouth hissing out pleasure, and Jensen feels just as wrecked as Jared, hands holding Jared desperately tight, hips snapping and pushing of their own accord, lost in the way Jared feels, tastes. God, to think anything could have taken Jared away.

_I’ll never let anything happen to you._

The words poise on his lips, and he’s so close to speaking them, so beyond _meaning_ them. Jared wrapped all around him, safe in his arms, and he wants to promise. Knows damned well that he can’t.

It hurts him worse than anything has in a long time, and he closes his eyes, pressing his cheek to Jared’s, fingertips digging into Jared’s back, arms crushing him close, body rippling, straining, filling Jared deep enough that maybe he’ll _feel_ what Jensen can’t say.

“Jensen,” Jared breathes out, hand closing over the back of Jensen’s neck, pulling him closer, body rising and falling beneath him, hips arching. “God, Jensen. Never…” Jared hitches in a breath, shuddering, “had… anyone…” fingers of Jared’s other hand gripping Jensen’s skin, “make me feel… the way… you do.”

Jensen squeezes his eyes shut even more tightly against the words, feeling each one pierce his heart. “Jared. God.” He twists his face away from Jared’s, turning back to catch Jared’s mouth, tongue sliding wet and hot to meet him, burying himself inside Jared, arms flexing around his body. This desperate, intense feeling in him that he needs to convey so badly, carried through in ragged thrusts. “Never… want to… let you down…” 

“You won’t,” Jared whispers. There’s absolute faith in the words, complete trust in Jared’s eyes, so much tenderness, and Jensen can feel everything inside him break open. 

Jensen thought he was fucked, before. He isn’t. He’s so beyond fucked that there isn’t a word for what he is.

He twists his hips, driving down into Jared, hands keeping him close, both of them jolting with the thrust, mouth sealing over Jared’s as he reaches down between them, fingers wrapping around Jared’s cock. Hips dragging backward until he feels Jared twitch and hiss with pleasure, and he holds there, rocking his hips back and forth, cock head stroking over Jared’s prostate, fist jerking him rough and slow. 

“Oh my God, Jensen.” Jensen can feel Jared tighten down around him, hips rising off the bed.

Jensen draws back to watch him, other hand reaching up to frame Jared’s face, thumb running along the line of his cheekbone. Jared is so gorgeous that it almost hurts to look at him, cheeks flushed, lips dark pink, eyes fluttering shut, completely lost in what Jensen’s doing to him, clinging to Jensen like he’s a lifeline.

He jerks his hips into the sweet spot and twists his wrist, thumbing under the crown, leaning in to brush his lips against Jared’s.

“I love you,” Jensen whispers.

Jared’s eyes fly open wide, and then he comes, spilling wet and slick between them, whole body clamping down around Jensen. Jensen groans, Jared squeezing his cock so incredibly tightly, and he thrusts with a mindless shudder, teeth seizing around Jared’s lower lip as fire rips through his belly, cock twitching, stomach muscles convulsing as he comes so hard the world grays out, hips hitching and stuttering. His hand keeps a mindless, steady rhythm, milking Jared through it the same way Jared’s milking him, every shudder of Jared’s body tearing another from Jensen. Jared’s still panting, twitching with aftershocks when he reaches up, clasping Jensen’s face between his hands. 

“Jensen.” Jared’s hazel eyes are soft, wide with surprise, glittering with emotion, and Jared shakes his head back and forth like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “I can’t believe you...” Jared trails off and takes another breath. “I love you.” Jared pulls him down, tongue swirling slow, kissing him so deeply and thoroughly that it leaves Jensen breathless. Jared pulls back, hands slipping through the short strands of Jensen’s hair, fitting to the curve of his skull, tugging him down until his forehead is pressed against Jared’s, fingers gripping him tight. “God. Love you so much,” Jared breathes. 

The words sound strange in his ears, not even close to as natural as they’d felt rolling off his tongue, and they hit hard, sinking deep. “I never expected to hear that again,” he whispers, voice rough. “Never expected to say it again.”

“I never expected you… _God_ ,” Jared sighs, forehead pushing up into his, eyes shutting tight. “I was so scared I’d lost you.”

“Don’t.” Jensen shakes his head fractionally, eyes fluttering shut, palm molding to the curve of Jared’s jaw, thumb tracing between his lips. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” Jensen shakes his head again, pressing a kiss to Jared’s lips, thumb caught between them. Jensen glides his thumb out over Jared’s cheek, kissing him again; close-mouthed intimate press of lips as he reaches down and pulls out of Jared slowly, shivering as he draws free. He turns his face to the side, cheek sliding against Jared’s until his chin is resting in the crook of Jared’s neck, mouth pushing a brief kiss against Jared’s throat. “I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jared shivers at the touch of his lips and then relaxes underneath him, fingers stroking through Jensen’s hair.

They fall into sleep, arms and legs still tangled around each other.

 

Jensen wakes less than an hour later, immediately aware of the world in the same way he always is upon waking; every sound known to him and familiar, eyes sweeping as much of the room as he can see for anything out of place before he lifts his head and checks the rest of it. Everything is still and quiet, Jared breathing soft and deep beneath him, lashes resting against his cheeks, arms still wrapped around Jensen.

Jensen lays his head back down, cheek resting against Jared’s chest. He’d made such a mistake trying to shut Jared out like he had earlier today—he knows that now. It strikes him as a desperate, last ditch effort to stop doing what he knew was wrong in the first place. But he couldn’t have stopped it anymore than he could stop the world from turning, the sun from rising. He’d told Jared himself that he doesn’t do anything halfway, even he does fight himself every step of the way.

Jared went digging for information about him, and that _does_ bother him—he has very specific rules when it comes to trust—but that’s not the whole reason he tried to shut things down, and he’d be a fool to pretend it was.  
It’s not just that Jared went digging for information; it’s what Jared found. 

It’s that Jensen tries his hardest not to even think about it, much less talk about it.

_\--“I can’t do this anymore.”_

_“I love it when you lie to yourself, Jensen. It just makes you taste sweeter.”--_

Everything he and Jared have done together, everything Jensen feels. It’s nothing that hasn’t been there the whole time. 

Misha proved that to him, a long time ago.

He closes his eyes and he can see Misha as clearly as if he’d seen him yesterday; sharp jaw line and faded blue eyes, hair tousled by the wind, that wide, bright, almost maniacal grin. 

The picture Jared found… Jensen never takes it out. He doesn’t have to; he has every detail memorized. He keeps it there, hidden away, because it would feel wrong for it _not_ to be with him. In four years, he’s taken that picture out of his wallet exactly once, when he was alone and beyond shit-faced drunk.

That was a bad night.

Jensen opens his eyes, vision of Misha disappearing more easily than the thoughts it brings with it. He rises slowly, disentangling himself from Jared, moving each of Jared’s arms and settling them back against the bed, until he’s sitting up. The condom is still clinging to him, and he tugs it off. Feet touching the floor and he walks to the bathroom, tosses it into the toilet and flushes it. 

He climbs back onto the bed, sliding in close next to Jared, and turns on his side, palm caressing Jared’s bare chest. Jared breathes in quickly once, eyes flickering open.

“Okay,” Jared says after a second, blinking and craning his neck to look at Jensen. “I didn’t dream that.”

“No,” Jensen affirms, shaking his head.

“Thank _God_ ,” Jared sighs, turning over on his side to look at Jensen, slinging one arm around Jensen’s waist. “Why are you awake?” Jared asks, brows rising a fraction.

“I was… just thinking,” Jensen hedges, trying to figure out where to begin, or if he even should. There’s a reason he buried this in compartmentalization hell four years ago. 

“You are _not_ changing your mind about this,” Jared says, and it’s warning, not a question.

“No.” Jensen slides his hand down Jared’s side, palm resting on his hip. “That’s not an option.”

“Then what?” Jared tugs him in closer, expression softening.

“You…asked me who he was. The man in the picture.”

Jared tenses, shaking his head before Jensen’s even finished the sentence. “No. Jensen, you don’t have to tell me anything--”

“I want to,” Jensen interrupts. More than that, maybe he needs to. Maybe he needs to talk about it, be done with it, once and for all, if that’s even possible.

Jared’s head settles against the pillows, nodding slowly. “You’re sure?”

No. Fuck no, he isn’t. But he’s going to do it anyway.

Jensen takes a moment, trying to decide where to begin. 

“His name was Misha.” God, he hasn’t spoken that name out loud for four years. “He transferred in off another SEAL team to replace our demolitions expert, and he was…” Jensen hesitates, searching for the right words. “If you asked any SEAL why they entered such a difficult program, they’d tell you it was because they get to be badasses and blow shit up--that’s bravado; bullshit military talk for wanting to be a hero.” 

Jensen curls his upper lip under the ridge of his lower teeth, biting and releasing. “But for Misha, that was the truth. He really loved blowing things up.” Jensen shakes his head slightly. “When I met him, I thought maybe he hadn’t always been like that… he’d been a SEAL as long as I had. And as much as I’d come to… dislike… what I did, he’d gone the other direction. He’d embraced it. You see that happen a lot in the military in times of war.”

“But he wasn’t like anyone else I’d known in the military. He had such a personality… outspoken and outgoing. He was a smart-assed, pushy bastard who loved to take things right to the edge.”

“He…” Jared shakes his head, frowning. “He doesn’t sound like the kind of guy you’d be interested in.”

“Not my type at all,” Jensen agrees. “An outgoing, outspoken smart-assed pushy bastard who loves to take things right to the edge?” he asks, eyeing Jared meaningfully with one arched brow. “Perish the thought.”

“Okay,” Jared says after a moment, nodding. “Point totally taken.”

“If he hadn’t been so damned good at what he did,” Jensen says, sobering, “so incredibly smart and just warped enough to enjoy the job… he’d have never been there at all. But he was... and I was younger then. Fascinated by him, and he knew it.” Jensen runs his tongue over his lower lip, front tooth just catching the swell, debating.

“When he came to me… I told him we couldn’t act on it. As much as I wanted to, developing that kind of attachment, taking it beyond friendship, could put the whole team in danger. I couldn’t risk being distracted by him, being more concerned for him than anyone else. The situations we were in most of the time… it was the last thing I could afford.”

“But it didn’t stop you.” It’s not quite a question.

“No,” Jensen says, shaking his head. “He seduced me… and I didn’t want to resist. I knew I should… but I couldn’t. I wanted him too much.” He closes his eyes for a moment, flash of Misha’s face filling the darkness. He opens them to the room instead, focusing on the soft hazel of Jared’s irises. “I loved him.”

Jared’s face tenses, and then he nods, just fractionally. 

“Your teammates, they’re more than your friends; they’re your brothers, they’re _family_ , and the only thing that’s more important than all of you is your country and your duty. You can’t let emotion interfere with the mission—that’s basic survival. It’s not an easy balance in the first place. And I’d never loved anyone before. Not like that. Falling in love for the first time... it changed everything.” Jensen stops, chewing at his lower lip thoughtfully. 

“I spent so many years rationalizing decisions I made in the field, carrying out the orders passed down to me. But with him… I couldn’t separate my feelings from the job anymore. He was always there, right beside me. I worried, every single time we went on a mission that I would lose him; that maybe this would be the time that he died.”

“It bled over into everything. I looked down my gun, and all I could see were people who felt just like me. Terrified of dying, terrifying of losing the people they loved. I started wondering about the other guys, the ones who had wives and families, how they could do it. Maybe because their families weren’t there, weren’t in danger with them. Maybe that made it easier somehow.” Jensen shakes his head, hand flexing against Jared’s hip. “But Misha, he was right there.”

Jared nods, brows drawing together in sympathy. 

“We couldn’t be together. We had to be careful. Fraternization in the military is an offense in and of itself; fraternization with someone of the same sex? Is unforgivable, especially being on the same team. We spent more than a year that way; together all the time, only able to be alone together on occasion. Misha… he never seemed to mind. But… it ate away at me just as much as the missions were starting to. The more time that passed, the more all I could think about was getting out of there, starting a new life together.”

“I was sick with it, and then they finally assigned us a mission I couldn’t conscience doing. I wanted out before we set foot near it. Unfortunately, the military doesn’t let you walk for having a conscience after serving almost seven years as a sniper.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could without ruining my career completely.” Jensen smirks bitterly. “I went to my commander and admitted to having homosexual tendencies.”

Jared hitches in a breath, eyes widening before he blinks in surprise. “You did?”

“I did.” Jensen’s smirk deepens, directed inward.

“They gave you an honorable discharge for that?”

“They have to. As long you only admit to _tendencies_.” Jensen pauses, remembering. “But my commander,” Jensen shakes his head, “didn’t bat an eye. Looked right at me and told me he’d known that for years. Told me he’d never thought it mattered, as long as I was doing a good job, and my record was flawless. But that if I was coming to him with this now, it meant I wanted out, and a guy who wanted out wasn’t going to be any good at his job anymore.” 

“I think he knew… about me and Misha. But he never said a word, recommended me for honorable discharge right up the line and pushed the paperwork through. I had the maximum amount of leave built up from over the years, and I took it with my commander’s permission, starting the very next day after that conversation. When I went to Misha… to tell him…” Jensen is silent for a long moment, remembering. “I asked him to come with me… all the time we were together, I never asked him for anything else.” The memory of the words he’d spoken still taste like ashes in his mouth. “I wanted a life together… and he… didn’t want to leave. All he could see was that I’d betrayed him.”

It still hurts, even now, just thinking about it. The raw, sick feeling in his stomach, the rage in Misha’s eyes. Jensen licks his lips, tongue gone dry and he shakes his head, unable and unwilling to explain. “He was furious. He never forgave me.” 

Jared’s eyes tighten their gaze on him, hands squeezing soft, sympathetic. “Never?” 

Jensen presses his lips together as he looks down at the bed. “He never had the chance.”

“Oh, God, Jensen,” Jared breathes. “I’m so sorry. Jesus.”

He doesn’t think it’s ever going to stop hurting. It’s an old wound, so much a part of him that he hardly notices the pain anymore, except for moments like this, when everything hits him all over again. It takes a moment for him to be able to go on, clearing his throat.

“My understanding is that they replaced me with a new sniper, one fresh out of the program. He’d never been on a mission before, and when the time came… he…” Jensen pulls his hand from Jared’s hip, fingers closing in a fist against the air. “He froze,” Jensen breathes, fingers clenching against his palm. “He couldn’t take the shot. He was spotted, and they… they tried to get out, almost made it, but…”

“The whole team died,” he says, voice cracking with the words. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, turning his head to stare at the foot of the bed. “Every single one of them. Bodies lost at sea, a funeral full of empty caskets.”

“Jesus. Jensen…” Jared curls his fingers in Jensen’s shoulder, and Jensen can’t look at him for a moment, refuses to, until Jared cups Jensen’s chin in his hand, turning him. 

Jared is staring at him with so much sadness that Jensen can’t stand to see it. He lets his eyes flutter shut and lets his head tilt forward, forehead leaning into Jared’s. Jared’s so still, just holding him, touching him, and finally he swallows hard.

“The picture you found…” he says, voice hoarse. “We were on shore leave, diving at the Grand Cayman. It was the first time we could just _be_ together. No secrets. No worrying. And we were…” Jensen bites down against the inside of his jaw. “We were happy. That picture was the only tangible reminder I had. And after he died…” Jensen shakes his head. “I tucked it away because I couldn’t stand to look at it… but it was all I had left. I had to carry it with me.”

Jensen breathes in slowly. “Everything we ever had was a secret. I never told anyone. I haven’t even said his name in four years. I was so angry when I knew you’d found the picture. Partly because you went looking… but mostly because I’ve spent the last four years _keeping_ it a secret. I try not to even think about it.”

“I’m sorry.” Jared squeezes Jensen’s shoulder and slides up close until their chests are touching, arm slipping around Jensen’s back. “God, I’m sorry I ever--”

“Don’t be,” Jensen shakes his head. “It’s long past time I told someone. I should have told you already.”

Jared’s silent for a long time, hand stroking over Jensen’s back, and Jensen can feel the knot in his chest loosen just a little. 

“It… it wasn’t just being a sniper, was it?” Jared asks, gentle and hesitant. “You became a bodyguard because you feel like what happened to them was your fault.”

“It _was_ my fault,” he says, simply. “If I’d been there, I’d have taken the shot. They wouldn’t have died.”

“Maybe,” Jared allows, hand cupping the back of Jensen’s head as he pulls back to look at him. “Or maybe you’d be dead, too.”

“Yes,” Jensen agrees.

Jared’s eyes go wide with surprise, hands stuttering against Jensen’s body. “You’re saying that’s an acceptable answer?”

“I was part of a team, Jared. I made a promise, a commitment. I failed them.”

“Jensen.” Jared’s shaking his head helplessly, eyes sadder than Jensen’s ever seen them, mouth moving silently like he can’t find the words. And then Jared closes his mouth and pulls Jensen closer, arms tightening around Jensen. Jared settles his chin on top of Jensen’s head, Jensen’s face sheltered by the curve of Jared’s neck and shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Jared doesn’t say anything else, just holds him, and it feels strangely like comfort.

He’s still trying to remember the last time he felt anything resembling that when he drifts back down into sleep.

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

The quality of light in the room tells Jensen that it’s somewhere between seven and eight in the morning when he opens his eyes again. Jared’s spooned up against his back, arms wrapped around Jensen’s waist, and Jensen leans forward, reaching out to grab his phone from the night table.

It’s Chad, Jensen sees briefly before he answers, and he barely gets to say hello before Chad’s going on a mile a minute in a tone of voice that has Jensen up and off the bed in two seconds flat, yanking on his clothes while he listens. 

“Chad,” he says, phone caught between his shoulder and his cheek as he tugs his pants up over his hips. “Chad, stop. Listen to me.” Chad pauses for breath as Jensen’s pulling up the zipper. “I’ll be there in two minutes. Do not go anywhere, and don’t touch anything else. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Chad snaps. “Hurry the fuck up already, huh?”

Jensen hangs up and slips the phone into his pants pocket. He tugs on his shirt and buttons it, tie slotted quickly into place, shrugging into his suit jacket and doing up the buttons. Socks and shoes slipped on in short order, and he runs a hand through his hair, on his way out the bedroom door.

Chad’s there in the garage next to the private car, smoking a cigarette with one hand, something held at his side in the other.

“About time,” Chad says, walking up to meet him. “So like I said; I went to do my morning check of the car, and there I am, crawling around underneath it… when I find _this_ ,” Chad says, thrusting a Ziploc storage bag with a piece of paper inside it at Jensen. “Stuck waaaaaay up in the undercarriage, fucking gift-wrapped in a baggie and everything,” Chad adds, shaking his head. “How the fuck did he do it?”

“He put it there while we were in the club last night,” Jensen says. He’s positive, or else he’d have called security and the police by now. No alarms had been triggered on the grounds last night, and the guy might be good, but he’s not good enough to get past all fail-safes Jensen has in place in _this_ location. 

“Do not tell me that whack-job put that shit under the car while I was in it,” Chad says, looking furious.

“That depends. Were you in the car the whole time?” Jensen asks.

Chad snorts and glares at Jensen. “Yes. I wish I _hadn’t_ been, because that would be a lot less motherfucking _scary_ , Jensen.”

Jensen nods, looking down at the plastic bag in his hand. The bag is a mockery, and Jensen knows it. _Here, let me wrap this up nice and pretty for the police and save you the trouble. It’s not like they’re going to find anything, anyway._ He pushes the thought aside and focuses on the sheet of paper caught inside it.

There’s a yellowish piece of paper glued to the center of the page. It’s covered in printed typeface, a paragraph cut from the pages of a novel, and he reads through it slowly.

Jesus. 

“Jensen?” It’s Jared’s voice, coming up behind him. “What is it?”

Jensen lifts his head, and Chad is still standing right there in front of him. Their eyes lock for a moment in silent communication, and Chad tells him he’s just as worried as Jensen is, just as sorry that Jared didn’t stay upstairs. There’s a faint arch to one of Chad’s brows that seems to ask if Jensen wants Chad to distract Jared, and Jensen shakes his head in a fractional movement. No. He’d have liked to bring it to Jared later, after he’d had time to digest it, but he’s not going to deceive Jared, no matter how hard the truth might be.

Jensen turns around to face Jared, and he can hear Chad’s footsteps retreating, receding outside. “Chad found another note… hidden in the underside of the car. He put it there while we were at the club last night; you’re not in any immediate danger.”

Jared’s face blows wide open for a second, and then he tightens down and straightens, folding his arms across his chest. “Let me see it,” is all he says, voice deathly quiet. 

Jensen hands him the bag without argument and steps up beside him, reading it again, himself. 

_“So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.”_

Beneath that, the word “SOON” is spelled out in tilting capital letters cut from magazines.

Jared is silent for a long moment, staring at the page, and Jensen can feel the barest tremor run through Jared, their shoulders barely touching. Jared’s voice cracks when he finally speaks. “That’s… really creepy.”

“It’s meant to be,” Jensen assures him. And though he knows it’s true, the printed words still evoke a deep sense of trepidation, even in him. He’s just better at dealing with that than Jared is, and right now, Jared needs him to be better.

“What the hell does it mean?”

Jensen reads the words again, rhythm of them turning over inside his head. “I think it means the killer wants you to think this is being done out of revenge.”

Jared’s brows pull into a helpless, confused frown. “But I’ve never done anything--”

“It could be anyone,” Jensen interrupts. “Someone you didn’t even realize you passed by, someone you didn’t even realize you’d affronted, according to this. And it doesn’t mean it’s true,” Jensen goes on, feeling almost as dismissive as he sounds. “It wouldn’t be the first time the killer sent us something to misdirect our attention.” Jensen turns his head to the side and sees that Jared is barely listening to him, staring at the piece of paper. Jensen reaches up and puts his hand on Jared’s shoulder, forcing Jared to turn and look at him. “It doesn’t matter what it means. We need to focus on keeping you safe,” he says.

Jared glances down at the sheet of paper again and then nods once. He’s not satisfied, not even close to satisfied by Jensen’s words.

“Jared…” Jensen curls his fingers into Jared’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Don’t let this bastard get to you,” Jensen says, pressing his forehead against Jared’s, hand touching Jared’s cheek, thumb stroking over the skin. 

Jared sucks in a deep breath through his mouth, nodding again, and Jensen can feel him relax marginally. “I’ll just… I’ll be really glad when this is over.”

 _That makes two of us_ , Jensen thinks. He doesn’t say it, though; takes the note from Jared and walks Jared back to his room.

Jensen calls his contacts the second Jared’s in the shower and sets up a meeting to hand off the most recent letter. It’s unlikely they’ll find anything, but still, he has to try. He looks down at the paper encased in plastic, reading the paragraph again.

“So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives…”

He doesn’t know what it means, exactly. All he knows is that the words settle in and won’t leave him.

 

It’s late, and Jared is asleep in Jensen’s bed, body sprawled out and only half covered by the comforter, white edge barely covering the tanned curve of his ass, one arm slung out across Jensen’s side of the bed. There’s a slight frown creasing his brow even in sleep, like he can sense that Jensen isn’t there.

Jensen is quiet as he moves, pulling the notepad off of the small stack of case files.

He sits back down on the bed and makes a copy of the paragraph in the letter, writing down the words across the paper in hurried script. He pauses when he’s finished, tapping the pen against the page, reading them again. He practically has them committed to memory by this point. Writing them down isn’t helping him to understand them any better.

He sets the notepad aside and reaches for his laptop, tugging it onto the bed beside him.

The odds that he’s going to find that quote online are slim to none, but he’s not one to leave a stone unturned. He types the beginning of the first sentence into the search field inside quotes, and hits enter.

There are six pages worth of hits, and he spends a few seconds blinking at the screen in surprise.

It’s from a book called _Wizard and Glass_ , by Stephen King. It turns out to be a love story, oddly enough, about two people falling in love for the first time. It ends tragically, the girl killed by events that the protagonist himself set in motion. The paragraph glued into the note is from a passage where the protagonist, telling the story in the future, looks back on his love with old and young eyes, past and present all at once, both knowing her death is coming and not having any idea. 

_“Roland looked up and saw Susan sitting in her window, a bright vision in the gray light of that fall morning. His heart leaped up and although he didn’t know it then, it was how he would remember her most clearly forever after — lovely Susan, the girl at the window. So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives; they sit undramatically by the roadside like poor beggars, and we see them only from the corners of our eyes, if we see them at all. The idea that they have been waiting there for us rarely if ever crosses our minds. Yet they do wait, and when we have passed, they gather up their bundles of memory and fall in behind, treading in our footsteps and catching up, little by little.”_  
Jensen flashes back to the image of Misha in the picture; skin kissed by sunlight and wind, hair tousled and wild, that wide, infectious grin. He’ll always be frozen in Jensen’s memory that way, beautiful and alive. Tragic and doomed. 

Misha is always going to haunt him, bundles of memory gathered up, following behind and treading in Jensen’s footsteps. That’s a simple fact, and it doesn’t have anything to do with this.

He shuts the memory out and focuses, re-reading the sentences again and again.

It doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense with regard to the situation, and it confirms what he’s been thinking since the killer revealed himself to be a professional; he’s screwing with Jared.

He doesn’t know what moved him to look it up in the first place. It’s just more of the same.

He closes the laptop and slides it onto the night stand, settling his fingers on top of his head, thumbs rubbing at his temples.

_\--Right behind you, Jen. Always right behind you.--_

He turns around, lying down on the bed, and slides into Jared’s embrace, wrapping Jared’s arm around his chest. Jared shifts in his sleep, burrowing closer, cheek pressing against Jensen’s. Jensen nudges back, settling his cheek into the groove of Jared’s. 

He stares at the ceiling for a long time before he finally sleeps.

 

Jensen wakes up the moment Jared shifts, but he doesn’t move when Jared climbs on top of him, fingers fumbling for the night stand drawer unsuccessfully. Jensen moves then, reaching over and opening it, fingers tugging out a condom, fingers of his other hand curling against Jared’s ass. Jared doesn’t make him let go, snatching the condom from between his fingers and ripping it open, fist smoothing the condom down his cock. Jared spits into his hand, slicking Jensen before he slides down the length with a long, slow thrust that makes Jensen bite down hard, nails digging into Jared’s skin.

Jared rides him slow and steady, hips twisting and corkscrewing until Jensen can’t stand it anymore, grabbing hold of Jared with both hands and driving up into him, teeth tearing at Jared’s throat as he comes. 

“So hot when you come,” Jared whispers, fist wrapped around his own cock. He spasms, muscles clenching around Jensen, come spattering Jensen’s stomach, and fuck, he’s so hot, riding Jensen mindlessly, mouth open, eyes closed as he shudders and thrusts, making Jensen come even harder.

Jared collapses against him, breathing hard, arms sliding under Jensen’s body and pulling him close.

“Good morning,” Jensen murmurs against Jared’s jaw.

“Uh huh,” Jared mumbles back, lazy and slow, barely moving at all.

Jensen smiles and presses a kiss just underneath Jared’s ear. Jared shivers slightly, and Jensen relaxes into the bed, fingertips tracing slow circles at the base of Jared’s spine.

It’s a few minutes later when Jared finally lifts his head, meeting Jensen’s eyes with intent.

“You have that look,” Jensen says, considering him.

“What look?” Jared asks, eyes narrowing.

Jensen shakes his head, holding back a smile. “Just tell me.”

“You suck,” Jared sighs, rolling his eyes. “Anyone ever told you that?”

“On more occasions than I can count,” Jensen agrees. 

“Fine,” Jared says, leaning in, lips grazing across Jensen’s. “I want you to teach me. Train me to fight like you do.”

“You don’t need to know how to fight like I do,” Jensen whispers back.

“If something happens…” Jared says, pulling back slowly to look at Jensen. “I want to be able to defend myself.”

“Jared.” Jensen shakes his head. “That’s why _I’m_ here.”

“And what if you aren’t there?” Jared asks, eyes intense. 

Jensen can see the fear in Jared’s eyes and feels a stab of guilt, knowing Jared’s thinking about the note… about what happened at the club. “I should always be there.”

“Jensen,” Jared shakes his head. “You’re amazing, but you’re human. You’re not going to be there every single second, and even if you were? You’re not bulletproof. What if…” Jared bites his lower lip, glancing away, “something happened to you?”

Jensen doesn’t have an answer for that, can’t begin to imagine Jared left alone and unprotected.

“We should _both_ know how to fight,” Jared tells him.

The thought of what it would take to make Jared as skilled as he is makes him want to recoil from the idea. But Jared isn’t completely wrong. There are some things Jensen could teach him, and if he can help Jared protect himself in any way… he needs to do it.

“All right,” he nods. He slides his hands up, wrapping his fingers around Jared’s wrists and flipping them both over, pinning Jared’s hands above his head. “I’ve got you pinned underneath me,” Jensen says. “What’s your first instinct?”

“While you’re naked and still inside me? You’re kidding, right?” Jared asks with a smirk.

“See, you’re learning already,” Jensen murmurs in agreement, leaning to kiss Jared’s mouth.

 

Training turns out to be harder than Jared expects. Not because he can’t follow instruction, but because he’s too distracted by the way Jensen moves, the way he uses his strength, the way he feels when he falls on top of Jared.

“So what am I supposed to be learning here, exactly?” Jared asks, squirming underneath Jensen’s weight.

“That you’re vulnerable, fallible,” Jensen answers, shifting his body, compensating for Jared’s movements effortlessly. “It would take five pounds of pressure for me to break your wrist right now,” he breathes out, fingers tightening. 

“Why… do you know that?” Jared gasps, flexing against Jensen’s grip, trying to edge his hip out and throw Jensen over.

Jensen moves to match him, holding him in place, hands like iron bands around his wrists. “Thirteen to break your arm.”

“That’s… not supposed to be hot, is it?” Jared asks, and it’s mostly meant to be rhetorical, but fuck, there’s something hot as hell about the idea that Jensen could incapacitate him inside of seconds if he wanted to. 

He might have some issues, but he’s pretty okay with that. 

“Focus,” Jensen tells him.

Jared twists hard to the right and then throws all his weight left before he pitches back to the right, motion catching Jensen off guard this time, spinning over and landing with Jensen underneath him.

“You were saying?” Jared grins.

“You think because you’re on top, you’re winning?” Jensen’s smirk is smug.

Jared looks the length of their bodies up and down and can’t help smirking back. “Looks like.”

The corner of Jensen’s mouth curls into a smile that leaves Jared feeling wary. “Here. I’ll even give you the advantage.” Jensen lets go of Jared, twisting his wrists into Jared’s hands, arms falling back against the mat.

Jared knows he should be worried, but he can’t really bring himself to care. Jensen is laid out underneath him, _pinned_ under him, willingly. There’s only one response to this situation.

He tightens his fingers and pushes down with all his weight. “You talk pretty tough for a guy on the bottom.”

“I learned from the best.” Jensen’s smile is lazy, predatory. 

Shit. Jared’s in so much trouble. 

He couldn’t be happier about it, really.

“Maybe you like being pinned down,” Jared goes on, flexing his fingers, leaning down even closer, lips brushing Jensen’s.

“Maybe,” Jensen murmurs into Jared’s mouth, tongue flickering over Jared’s lower lip. It’s electric, the way he feels, gaze mesmerizing, eyes like a cobra’s as he stares Jared down. “Wanna find out?” Jensen asks, tilting his head to the side.

Fuck yes, he does.

Jared falls into him, kissing Jensen hard, and Jensen arches up into him, whole body grinding into Jared’s as he kisses back. Jared groans into Jensen’s mouth, hips shivering, thrusting, hands pushing Jensen’s hands deeper into the mat. Fuck. He’s too hot for words.

And then Jared’s on his back, so fast he doesn’t even have time to breathe, Jensen smirking, body rippling into Jared’s.

“You are such a sucker,” Jensen whispers, kissing him.

Jensen proceeds to school Jared on exactly how much of a sucker Jared is.

Jared isn’t sorry.

 

Eventually, they do get it right.

The second session, it takes Jensen knocking him on his ass for the fifth time, hard enough that his teeth rattle, before Jared actually starts paying attention. After that, it goes easily enough; Jensen’s an excellent teacher, and he isn’t afraid Jared’s going to get hurt like most of Jared’s trainers have been, isn’t afraid to get right down in it with him. Jared’s sweating and sore and breathing hard by the end of each session, and the harder they fight, the harder they fuck afterward, bodies gleaming and naked pressed up against the short bay of lockers, or slammed against the tiles in the shower, steaming water sliding over them as they move.

Jared’s constantly sore from fucking and fighting both, and he can’t say he’s upset about it.

By the sixth session, Jensen’s looking at Jared with something like admiration, even though Jared’s failing against him as badly as he ever has.

He’s not good enough to take Jensen—he’ll never be good enough to take Jensen—but he’s good. The look in Jensen’s eyes tells him so.

 

There’s part of Jensen that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Things are too good, and the case isn’t anywhere near resolved. There’s a small, distant part of him that wonders if this is how his life is always going to be; finding something good in the middle of professional situations where he shouldn’t be finding anything of the sort.

If he’ll lose this, too.

But he can’t let that interfere. He can’t let himself stop to truly consider it, because the second he does… that’s when he’ll lose his grip on the situation. That’s what will open the door to failure, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. He has to focus, has to believe that he can do this; that they’ll be fine. He has to keep moving.

_\--I love it when you lie to yourself, Jensen--_

Ghosts behind, assassins in front, and he doesn’t know what the future holds. He just knows that whatever it holds, he’ll find a way to deal with it and overcome it. He’ll find a way to succeed.

He won’t fail again. He can’t. 

The other shoe, when it drops, doesn’t fall in the way he expected it to at all.

 

It’s almost noon and he’s completing his rounds on the mansion grounds when Victor Antonelli radios him.

“Mr. Ackles? We’ve got a situation at the security gate.”

“What is it?” Jensen asks, already moving in that direction. The gate isn’t far from where he is, and he moves through the trees quickly, purposefully unmindful of the noise he’s making. He slows as he steps into the sunshine, squinting as he takes in the scene.

There’s a sleek black car parked at the gate, sunshine glaring off its pristinely polished surface. Through the half-opened window, Jensen can see the man sitting behind the wheel. He’s wearing black sunglasses, and he’s got a sharp, harsh face that matches the perfectly pressed lines of his black suit, impeccably clean white shirt worn beneath, black tie dividing its width. 

The car’s tinted window rolls down the rest of the way as the man leans towards the booth to say something, and Jensen can hear the guard answer that someone will be out in just a moment. The man sits back against the leather seat, long, bony fingers rising, tapping impatiently along the edge of the open window. 

“Never mind,” Jensen radios Victor, finger sliding off the button. Jensen doesn’t need anyone to tell him who these people are; he knew the second he laid eyes on them. What he doesn’t understand is why they’re _here_.

He can feel his gut tighten instinctively, intuition telling him this can’t be a good sign, but he pushes the response aside as he walks to the gate, unlocking the door in the iron fencing set just to the side of the booth.

The man in the car turns his attention towards Jensen’s approach, and Jensen steps up to the window, bending down slightly. Elbows resting on the very edge of the car door, forearms hanging loosely crossed back towards himself, almost casual—but his right hand is very close to the gun holstered against his left side beneath his suit jacket. “Can I help you?”

The man tilts his head down, regarding Jensen over the rims of his dark sunglasses for a second before he nods. Still looking at Jensen, he reaches across himself to the inner breast pocket of his jacket. 

“Agents Sloane and Sterling,” the man says, nodding at his partner, indicating him as Sterling. “FBI,” he adds unnecessarily as he pulls out a badge and presents it to Jensen. 

Jensen takes the badge and makes a thorough inspection of it. It’s legitimate, it has all the right markings, and these guys both look too much like Feds to be anything else. He nods once, flipping the ID case closed before he hands it back. “Agent Sloane. How can we help you today?”

Agent Sloane tucks the badge away, seeming to size Jensen up from behind his glasses.

“We’re here to take over the case of Mr. Padalecki’s stalker.”

 

Another car arrives, pulling in moments after the first, and then there’s a van, and then another, and Jensen’s got his hands full for the next hour trying to explain the security systems and methods in place around the mansion and its grounds.

It happens in a whirlwind, and Jensen handles it the same way he’d handle any unexpected turn on a mission; he keeps moving and gets through it. When he’s finished, Special Agent Mason--in charge of security—dismisses him like he’s the hired help. He grits his teeth hard and tries to remember that he _is_ the hired help. He manages, but he can feel his control slipping moment by moment, and for all that he’s worked with the FBI on more than one occasion, no one likes this “jurisdiction” bullshit. 

There’s a man standing in front of the cameras placed above the front door of the house, making notes in a spiral notebook, speaking in quiet tones to the man standing next to him, who’s nodding and making notes of his own. This is what they do, Jensen knows; they come in and take over quickly. Jensen’s fairly sure by the time it all sinks in, he’ll be standing well on the sidelines.

He doesn’t have time to stand around being pissed about it though, because he needs to find Jared now and see how he’s taking all of this.

Jensen doesn’t have to go far; Jared is standing in the lobby of the house, looking at the people moving quietly and purposefully around him like he can’t believe this is happening.

“Did they talk to you yet?” Jensen asks as he walks up to Jared.

“They told me why they were here, if that’s what you mean,” Jared tells him, words clipped and tight. Jared’s worried, Jensen can tell, but he’s also verging on angry, and he could tip either way. 

“Oh, and they apologized for the inconvenience.” Jared’s sarcastic tone clearly conveys his disbelief at said apology. “Right before they _started taking over my house_ ,” Jared adds, raising his voice on the last words as he projects them angrily at the people walking by them.

Jensen represses a smile and reaches out, hand brushing Jared’s for a moment, and just that simple touch brings Jared’s attention right back to him. He’s about to suggest that they go somewhere more private to discuss it when Jared’s eyes focus on someone over Jensen’s shoulder. He can hear as much as sense someone approaching behind him, even through the people passing by, and he turns around to face Agent Sloane. 

Agent Sloane is tall, thin and dark-haired, balding on the top, with the kind of features that remind Jensen of a hawk; beady, almost-black eyes and a huge, curved nose that dominates his face. His lips are cold, pale and thin, and they look like they’d crack if he ever tried to smile. He’s not just “all-business”, he’s solemn—grim—and he reminds Jensen more of an undertaker than an FBI agent. 

His partner, Sterling, on the other hand, is dark-skinned and round-faced, with sharp, intelligent eyes that hold just enough warmth to render him human. His demeanor is professional in a more charismatic way than Sloane’s, and Jensen understands instantly that these two were paired to balance their specific strengths and weaknesses. 

“Mr. Ackles, Mr. Padalecki,” he greets them with a brief nod, and it’s as obvious now as it was outside that Sloane is running the show. “We’ll meet with you in Mr. Anderson’s office in ten minutes for a briefing.”

“How considerate of you,” Jensen replies, coolly.

“I’m sorry, was that an order?” Jared asks, and Jensen can hear the fury behind the question, just waiting to burst free.

He knows he should stop Jared now, but he can’t quite bring himself to want to.

“Yes. I’m sorry, Mr.Padalecki,” Sloane says, like it’s a formality. “We have a need for haste.”

“And I have a need to know right the fuck now what the hell you’re doing in my house,” Jared practically snarls, pushing past Jensen. “Not ten minutes from now. Not during a _briefing_. Right here, right now.”

Jensen’s never witnessed Jared furious at anyone else besides him. When he’s not busy actively ignoring Jared’s temper… it’s actually impressive. 

Sloane doesn’t blink or retreat, and Jensen notes the reaction with interest. Doubtless Sloane’s been considerably trained in combat, and Sloane is tall, but he’s reedy thin and he’s got to be forty-five if he’s a day. Jared’s a hugely muscled, trained to fight, and coming right up in his space. 

“I understand your defensiveness,” Sloane continues, and it sounds like he’s beginning to recite an old, well-rehearsed speech. He’s not going to get the time to finish it, not with Jared as angry as he is.

“No, you really don’t,” Jared seethes, pushing even further into Sloane’s face, and tall as the man is, Jared’s still taller. 

The soldier part of Jensen’s mind understands Jared is overreacting at least partially out of fear, and his training in working with authorities dictates that he should stop this before Jared starts throwing blows… but the rest of him is enjoying this.

“Mr. Padalecki.” Agent Sterling steps slightly in front of Sloane, reaching out to put a palm against Jared’s chest--

Jensen _almost_ moves. It’s pure instinct and it’s a damned near thing; fingers twitching and wanting to reach out, close around the Agent’s wrist like lightning, squeezing hard on pressure points that send pain sparking through the nerves before he throws Sterling’s hand back at him and steps between him and Jared.

Don’t. Touch him.

The words leap to his lips, and this is not a new feeling, exactly, because he is Jared’s bodyguard. But…

Sterling’s a professional, he’s not trying to hurt Jared, he’s just trying to defuse the situation, and Jensen knows that with every logical capacity he possesses. But it’s only with an effort that he puts his palm carefully to Jared’s shoulder, pulling back gently as he steps forward beside Jared, eyes meeting Sterling’s.

“We’re going to need a few minutes,” Jensen tells him. 

Sterling pulls his hand away, holding it up, palm outward. “Take twenty,” he says and turns away, hand pushing against his partner’s shoulder and turning him from the scene. 

 

Jared is still furious when they get to Jensen’s room, stomping inside and whirling on Jensen the second the door shuts.

“You did _not_ want to stop me.”

Jensen runs a hand along his jaw and shakes his head once. “I wanted Chad to make popcorn,” Jensen admits with a smirk. It’s a cute smirk, and any other time, Jared would want to kiss it, but he’s too floored. 

Jared steps closer to Jensen, raising his hands to hip level. “Then why…?”

“Because if he hurt you I’d have to kill him,” Jensen replies without hesitating, and that smirk is still lingering around his mouth, but Jared believes him. 

“And… I look terrible in orange,” Jensen concludes with a shrug.

It takes a moment for Jensen’s words to work past his confusion, to get under the fury sizzling in his veins, but then they do. 

Jared can’t help himself as he shakes his head, grinning ruefully. “I love you, you know that?”

“Of course you do,” Jensen replies, like it’s the most natural thing in the world that Jared would love him. _Obviously_ , Jensen says, without saying another word, and Jared loves him so much right now, for so many reasons, but most of all because he’s doing _this_ ; being _him_ and treating Jared like nothing’s changed at all.

Jared steps closer to him, hands reaching out, palms settling against Jensen’s hips as he kisses him. “You’d rock a prison uniform, by the way,” Jared tells him, smiling.

“You’d come visit me?” Jensen asks.

“Every single Sunday,” Jared grins.

Jensen kisses him back, and for a split second, everything feels okay again.

“When we go in there,” Jensen whispers, drawing back, “let me handle them.”

“You’re not going to kick anyone’s ass, are you? Because I’d have to get in on that.”

Jensen rolls his head slightly to one side and then the other, like he’s considering the question, and then finally pulls out of the motion with a slow, resolved shake, lips pursing. “Unfortunately.”

Jared sighs, leaning his head into Jensen’s. He still can’t get his head around what’s happening, isn’t ready to process it, or talk about it in any real way. He only has one thought.

“This is my home, Jensen.” Jared knows how desperate he sounds, but he doesn’t care. “It’s the only place I feel comfortable.”

Jensen lifts his chin, pressing a slow kiss against Jared’s forehead. “I know.”

“Them being here… it’s big. It’s…” Jared shakes his head, unable to find the words. His anger is gone now, not a trace of its strength left.

“I know,” Jensen says again, pulling him closer. “I’ll be right there beside you.”

 

They gather in Ethan’s office, Jensen, Jared, Mike and Ethan and the two agents. Jensen’s aware of every single person in the room, but it’s Jared that he’s most aware of; the way Jared sits down on the couch, leaning slightly away from Ethan, hands laced over his knees, knuckles whitening.

Jensen takes the seat set in front of the desk and turns it sideways towards the room, leather creaking as he sits down. Sloane and Sterling are standing, speaking in low tones behind the desk, turned at an angle where Jensen can’t read their lips. 

“According to Mr. Ackles, you already know that Mr. Padalecki is being stalked by a professional,” Sloane begins as he walks around the desk, notebook in one hand, cup of coffee in the other.

“We’ve been tracking this assassin for over a year now,” Sloane explains as he sits down on the front edge of Ethan’s desk, steaming mug of coffee set aside on the surface behind him. “He’s responsible for the assassination of three people in the last year and a half, including one of our own agents. Our intelligence led us to this case—specifically, Mr. Padalecki’s stalker.”

Jensen regards Sloane carefully, searching his expression for any sign that he might be telling less than the truth. Fucking FBI agents; they’re always a hard read, just as skilled in hiding the truth as Jensen was ever trained to be, and even more slippery. All he’s sure of is that Agent Sloane is slick as oil, and not to be trusted. “You’re certain it’s the same killer?”

“Completely,” Agent Sloane replies without hesitation. “We’ve been able to build a very accurate psychological profile on the killer, and this matches his M.O.”

“Which is?” Jensen asks, steepling his fingers together and sitting back in his chair.

The look Sloane gives him is stern. “We’re not allowed to divulge that information, Mr. Ackles.”

Of course they aren’t. “Convenient,” Jensen nods. “Do you know who this person is?” 

“It’s classified.” 

“I’m shocked,” Jensen replies, droll. 

Sloane’s eyes tighten on him, and Jensen is sure of one more thing; Agent Sloane doesn’t like him—at all. 

Good. The feeling is incredibly mutual.

Jensen opens his mouth to ask another question and Sloane cuts him off. 

“Mr. Ackles, let me be clear. We’re not allowed to tell you anything more than what we’ve already told you. As a former Navy SEAL, I’d expect you, of all people, to understand protocol.”

Jensen isn’t a bit surprised that they know who he is; they probably dug up everything they could find about him, Jared, Ethan and every person on the house staff. No, Jensen isn’t surprised; he’s _pissed_. 

“As a former Navy SEAL,” he echoes, leaning forward in his seat and narrowing his eyes on Sloane, “I also understand that answer can mean you know exactly _nothing_ about what’s happening here. As a civilian and as Mr. Padalecki’s bodyguard, I understand that when you get vague about information that could be important to his safety by throwing around terms like “classified”, I begin to feel extremely… uncooperative.” 

Sloane glances over his shoulder at Agent Sterling with a look that clearly says, “See? I told you so”, and Jensen can feel his blood beginning to boil.

“Mr. Ackles,” Agent Sterling says, stepping forward to the edge of the desk. “I’m sorry we can’t tell you anything more. But I _can_ give you our assurance that we will do everything within our power to keep Mr. Padalecki safe while bringing this killer to justice.”

Jensen fixes his eyes on the man, unimpressed.

Agent Sterling nods like he understands, and then says, “Our goals are the same. We should be working together.”

The cold, hard, simple truth of it is that they don’t require Jensen’s help. Their security team is already moving through the house, taking over. They’re in charge, and if he decides to be difficult, they’ll find a way to sideline him. That Agent Sterling is essentially asking for his help says something about the man’s character—either that or that he’s smart enough to try and make an ally of Jensen rather than an enemy. And either way, it’s not as if Jensen has a choice, does he? 

He glances at Jared sitting on the couch, silent and worried, his gaze fixed on Jensen with an intricate combination of fear, love and trust. 

He’s got no choice at all.

 

Jared watches and listens, feeling numb and far removed from the entire situation. The fucking _FBI_ is crawling through his house right now, and this is a nightmare. He doesn’t have any idea how this happened.

He’s silent, eyes focused on Jensen except when one of the agents asks him a question. 

“We’ll need a private question and answer session with you, Mr. Padalecki,” Agent Sloane tells him. “Sometime later today.” Jared nods, and Sloane turns his attention back to Jensen. “Mr. Ackles, we’ll need to schedule a meeting with you as well. For now, take some time to confer with your client while we finish setting up.” 

Sloane nods as he rises from the desk, turning towards Mike and Ethan. “Mr. Anderson, Mr. Rosenbaum, we’ll need to speak with you as well. Would you accompany us downstairs?”

Jared meets Ethan’s eyes, sees the hesitation in them, and he nods once, just slightly. He needs the time alone with Jensen right now to figure out what the hell is going on.

Sloane and Sterling exit with Mike and Ethan in tow, closing the door of Ethan’s office behind them, and Jared’s up and out of his seat in a second.

“Why is the FBI here, Jensen?”

Jensen rises from his seat, buttoning his jacket like the perfect picture of calm—like five minutes ago he hadn’t been ready to throw both agents out the window with a smile. “We already knew this guy was a professional assassin. This just means the FBI knows about him, too. Nothing’s changed.”

Jared stops pacing, thinking about that. Maybe that’s true, in the larger sense, but it sure doesn’t _feel_ like nothing’s changed. It feels like his whole world’s been turned upside down and inside out. “Don’t pretend you’re okay with this.”

“I’m not,” Jensen says, deadly serious. “They’re going to be in my way just as much as you used to feel I was in yours. More,” he adds, moving closer to Jared, hands touching Jared’s hips, head tilting up to look at him. “But we’re going to have to deal with it.”

Jensen feels warm and safe, he feels _sane_ , and this—everything that’s happening around them, is definitely not sane. Jared melts against Jensen’s touch, palms soft around Jensen’s neck as he leans in. “Can’t we just tell them to go away?”

“No. We can’t. They’re the FBI.”

“One does not simply tell the FBI to fuck off,” Jared sighs, nodding.

Jensen leans in and kisses Jared.

“We’ll be all right.”

  
  



	11. Chapter 11

Jensen’s meeting is scheduled first, and he unbuttons his jacket, settling into the seat across from Agent Sterling.

The questions begin in a routine manner, and Jensen is used to the process from his own debriefings in the military. Agent Sterling notes every detail by hand on a yellow notepad as he speaks, pausing to ask another question or two between. Jensen keeps his answers limited strictly to the case, and by the end, Sterling is tapping his pen against the pad, looking at Jensen with a thoughtful expression that makes Jensen instantly suspicious. 

“Mr. Ackles…” Sterling begins, drawing out the pause. “I have to ask,” he adds, almost apologetic before he continues. “How do you think your relationship with Mr. Padalecki has contributed to the situation?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Jensen answers, squinting at the other man.

Sterling taps the tip of his pen against the pad two more times, and then sets it down, rising from his seat with a sigh. He turns away from Jensen, hands sliding into his pockets. “Mr. Ackles. It’s clear from a glance at the two of you that you’re involved. And normally, I’d be the last person to judge you for that…” Sterling pauses, turning slowly to look at Jensen. “But considering your personal history, do you really think it’s wise?”

“What do you know,” Jensen asks, tone turning icy, “about my personal history?”

“Officially, we only know everything detailed in your military record, of course,” Sterling says, as he turns, hands spreading in an encompassing gesture as he settles back into the chair. “But unofficially… we did speak with your former commander.” His eyes meet Jensen’s meaningfully. 

“What,” Jensen demands, rising from his chair and planting his hands on the desk, “gives you the right,” leaning down far enough to meet Sterling’s gaze head on, “to go digging through my personal history?”

“The safety of your client,” Sterling answers. “Mr. Ackles. We understand what caused your personal crisis, why you left the military despite the fact that you’d known you were gay for a long time before admitting it. We know about your involvement with your former team member.”

“Whatever you think you know,” Jensen informs him, voice low and deadly, “you’re wrong.”

“I know it was what made you unable to do your job in the end. In my personal opinion,” Sterling shrugs, “there’s nothing wrong with that. You did the right thing. But, Mr. Ackles…” Sterling focuses on him more closely, “given how you dealt with all of that… do you really think your emotions aren’t going to interfere with this job, too?”

“I’m not walking away from this.”

“Of course,” Sterling nods. “You’re not going to walk away from this situation; it’s not even close to the same thing. You’re not being called upon to do anything you find abhorrent. You’re not torn over anything.” Sterling hesitates, glancing down at the desk and then back up at Jensen. “Maybe your emotions haven’t contributed anything negative to the situation yet. But do you truly believe you’re thinking clearly with regard to Mr. Padalecki?”

“I know his safety is my first concern.”

“As it should be. But considering how you feel about him… are you sure you’re as focused on the job as you should be? In a relationship, two people tend to concentrate on each other to the exclusion of all else. This job isn’t the same as being in the military; there aren’t rules and regulations and formulas to follow. There isn’t constant action and routine to keep you in check and keep you apart. All it would take is a single moment of letting your guard down, turning to him to share a laugh or exchange a few words. For you to look away and the killer to find his opening.”

Every single one of Jensen’s fears, every single doubt, spoken aloud.

Sterling’s eyes are intent on his. “Do you trust yourself that much?”

No. 

No. He really doesn’t.

“I know it goes against your personal protocol as a bodyguard to cooperate with us, but you need to step back and let us take point on this. Work with us, like it was a team mission.”

“But it’s not a team mission,” Jensen says, smirking darkly, and all of this is hollow, empty, meaningless bullshit. “Because I don’t have access to the same information as you do.”

“Unfortunately, that’s true.” Sterling nods. “And I understand your position.” Sterling sits back in the chair and curls one hand under his chin. “Let me put it to you this way. We’ll have several bodyguards protecting Jared at all times. If you’d prefer to step down as his bodyguard--”

“That’s not going to happen.”

Sterling nods like he didn’t expect anything else. “Then I expect you to cooperate with us.”

Jensen’s worked with the FBI before, but never in this capacity; he’s never had to depend on them for the safety and success of a mission.

“If you fuck this up,” Jensen hisses, “you can hire all the bodyguards you want—I _will_ come for you.”

Sterling folds his lips together, pressing them into a straight line, just the slightest glint of sympathy in his eyes. “I understand,” he says, and nods. “And for what it’s worth, Mr. Ackles… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t tell me you’re sorry,” Jensen says, shaking his head. “Just be sure you do your job.”

Sterling hesitates for a moment, looking like he wants to say something else… and then he nods once with finality. “We will. Good day, Mr. Ackles.”

 

Jared spends literally _hours_ in the office with both FBI agents, and when he finally emerges, he looks exhausted, eyes distant and glazed, tense at the edges, mouth stretched in a thin line. It’s such an uncharacteristic look for Jared that Jensen is immediately concerned, rising from the seat where he’s been waiting for Jared and walking to meet him. 

“You okay?” Jensen asks, leaning just a little closer, voice kept at a minimum of necessary sound.

Jared pulls his eyes from slack middle-distance, taking a moment to focus on Jensen before he finally shakes his head.

“What happened?” Jensen asks.

“You… wanna go for a walk?” Jared’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunching forward slightly. 

Jensen glances at all the people around them and nods, moving into step alongside Jared. Jared seems nervous, glancing furtively at FBI agents as they pass them in the hall. Bad enough that they’re here stepping all over Jensen’s operation; this is Jared’s home. And unlike Jensen being here, Jared didn’t ask for their presence.

The cool breeze of the evening hits Jensen as the front doors open, smelling sweetly of rain and the flowers in the beds lining the circular driveway. The set of Jared’s shoulders loosens as they step out into the evening, and Jensen can hear him inhale, exhale slowly. The day is closing in on twilight, shadows thrown dark and deep, black, inky pools, objects limned in faint pink and orange. It’s already too close to dark for Jensen to see as well as he wishes he could—in another ten minutes it will be hopeless. But for now, they walk to the path that circles the mansion, Jensen following Jared as he sets foot onto the asphalt. 

The trees crowd the edges of the path, sheltering them in privacy and near darkness. Jensen glances up and sees clouds reflecting almost iridescent pink between the black, interlacing tree branches.

All Jensen can hear is the sound of their shoes against the asphalt, faint echo of their footfalls from the trees all around, the slightest rustle of the wind through the leaves. He knows there are people out here, agents stationed among the trees, all across the grounds, but if they’re anywhere nearby, they’re being still and silent enough that Jensen can’t hear them.

Jared stops walking and sighs, head tilting back as he stands straight, feet planted apart, hands still in his pockets. “So what do you think?” 

“About global warming? Sarah Palin? The price of tea in China?”

Jared chuckles without any sign of humor, head falling forward and shaking back and forth, hair swaying with the movement. “You know what I mean.”

Jensen tilts his head to the side, considering the slant of Jared’s shoulders. 

_\--“Do you trust yourself that much?--”_

He hesitates a moment, chewing at his lower lip thoughtfully. “I think maybe it’s a good thing they’re here.”

Jared goes completely still… and then he slowly shuffles his feet, turning to face Jensen. “What did they say to you?”

Jensen takes a deep breath, mulling over the words before he speaks them. “That I can’t be sure I’m one hundred percent focused on my job as long as you and I are emotionally involved.” 

“ _That’s_ what they said?” Jared sounds angry, shaking his head harshly, and he turns to the side, eyes rolling upwards with a snap, head following the motion. “Jesus.”

Jensen steps closer to him, lowering his voice even more. “They were right.”

Jared goes rigid, head cutting hard towards Jensen. In the last bit of light left before the sunset, Jensen can see Jared bite his lower lip like he’s about to say something to contradict that… long heartbeats, waiting… and then Jared’s teeth slide away, lower lip unfurling. 

“Maybe it _is_ a good thing they’re here,” he says, looking away, chin falling until it almost touches his chest.

Jensen takes another step closer. “What did they say to _you_?” 

Jared huffs in a breath and shakes his head again. “The threat is serious, they need my full cooperation...” Jared trails off. “This whole thing, it’s like… like something out of one of my movies. Jensen… I don’t… I don’t even know what--”

Jensen steps in front of Jared and turns, sliding his arms around Jared’s waist. “We’ll get through it,” Jensen tells him.

Jared takes a deep breath, nudging his cheek against Jensen’s. “Could we… go back to your room? I kind of want to be alone with just you.”

Jared sounds utterly exhausted, like all of this has been too much for him. Jensen nods wordlessly in answer to his question.

But they both stand there a little while longer, holding each other as the daylight slips away.

 

Jensen does a check of his own room, regardless of how many agents are prowling the grounds right now. The room is clear; he expected it to be. Jensen’s sure that no matter how much of a pro this killer is, he wasn’t expecting the FBI to show up on the case. It’s going to take him at least a day or two to regroup. And he _will_ regroup—of that, Jensen has no doubt. 

Jared, on the other hand, looks like he might burst any second now—lost and worried, not quite able to contain it all, and all Jensen wants is to figure out a way to make it stop.

Sterling was right. So right. And he doesn’t give a damn.

“Jared.” Jensen walks to him, palms closing over Jared’s shoulders, sliding around, thumbs catching, fingers squeezing. “It’s going to be okay.”

Jared closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Don’t,” he whispers. “Just…” Jensen can feel him tremble, shivers traveling down the length of his forearms. “ _Don’t_ ,” Jared breathes, grabbing Jensen by the back of his head and yanking him in. Jared’s mouth crashes into his, opening hot and fast, tongue pushing past Jensen’s lips, hungry and desperate. 

“Need you,” Jared whispers, tongue swirling out, painting a line across Jensen’s chin. “Need to feel you, Jensen, please.”

Jensen drags him backwards toward the bed, pulling Jared down on top of him, sweet, rough kisses, Jared’s hands tearing at his clothes, sliding smooth where the material falls away. Fingertips tracing out the lines of muscle and bone, trailing over sensitive skin, kissing wet and messy down his chest, tongue spiraling through the cleft of his abs, down, down, mouth a hot, wet smear against the head of his cock, and he arches, hands fisting in Jared’s hair.

Hands gripping his hips, thumbs sunk into the depression between the bones, mouth sucking slow and deliciously hard down the length of him, lips closing in a kiss at the base, throat clenching down tight around the head, and fucking _Christ_.

“Jared.” He shivers, yanking Jared’s head up, and Jared doesn’t hesitate, mouth pulling away from the head of Jensen’s cock with a wet, greedy sound, trailing down the center vein, licking out across the seam of his thigh, lower, soft, slick heat pressing deep between.

“Love the way you taste,” Jared whispers, hot breath hitting Jensen’s skin. “Every bit of you.”

Sleek, soft-hardness of Jared’s tongue parting him, rushing to fill him, and he stiffens, hissing, hips bucking helplessly into the feel. Velvety smooth twists, tip curling and stroking to the edge, circling the rim before diving back inside. It’s sublime and perfect, and Jared slides a slick finger inside him underneath his tongue, fingertip curving into the sweet spot, sparks shooting through every nerve in his body.

Sweating, hips arching up from the bed, and Jared is relentless, drawing out the pleasure until Jensen grabs him by the hair again, tugs him away. “Jesus Christ, Jared. Fuck me.”

Jared slides up his body in a rush, gliding skin to skin, mouth brushing Jensen’s.

“Love it when you’re like this… when you let me all the way inside,” Jared gasps, pushing up between his thighs, “Love you, Jensen. Fuck. Love you so much,” cock sliding deep and hitting every sweet spot on the way down.

Jesus. Jensen’s hand spreads out over Jared’s thigh, feeling the muscles ripple beneath the skin as Jared slides backward and then thrusts, driving into Jensen at an angle that leaves him breathless, biting at his own lower lip, fingertips digging into the muscle. “Fuck,” he groans, lifting his hips into the thrust.

“They never should have said that to you,” Jared whispers raggedly, hips pulling back with slow, delicious friction. He kisses Jensen slow, tongue swirling inside his mouth and then Jared drops his hips, weight following behind, burying his cock hard and fast to the bottom.

It’s deliciously sweet, so goddamned good, Jensen clutching at Jared’s hair, biting against his mouth. “I’ve…” Jensen gasps, turning his face slightly, cheeks sliding with the rough catch of stubble, mouthing at the line of Jared’s jaw, “made mistakes before.”

Jared turns his cheek against Jensen’s, hair trailing over skin as Jared draws away to look at him, cheeks flushed, face covered in a fine glimmer of sweat. “What happened… wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Jared shakes his head, lips catching Jensen’s. “You did what you thought was right. You tried to save _both_ of you before you could make a mistake that got you both killed.”

Jared’s staring into him, pupils blown wide, thin rim of hazel at the edges. “You made the right decision, Jensen.” 

Jensen turns his face away, eyes cutting across the slant of his own shoulder. “I’m never going to believe that,” he whispers.

Jared’s hands slide up, cupping around his jaw, turning him back to look. “If he ever loved you…” Jared whispers, vehemently, “he’d agree. He’d want you to go on. He’d do _anything_ to make sure you had the chance.”

Jensen shakes his head once, chest aching. “He shouldn’t have had to die for that chance.”

“I would. God, Jensen,” Jared breathes, mouth colliding with his, hands clutching him close. “I’d die for you in a second,” Jared confesses, words given in a heated rush against Jensen’s mouth, hips moving in a sudden, ragged motion. “I love you.”

“Jared,” he breathes, heart stuttering in his chest, hands tightening against Jared’s skin. 

“But you…” Jared’s eyes are on fire, burning holes through Jensen. “Are you still ready to die for what happened to him?”

Jensen stares at him, stunned wordless for an instant.

“No.” Jensen shakes his head helplessly. “Now… I’m ready to die for _you_.”

Jared’s eyes widen, whole face going soft with surprise… and then Jared falls into him, kissing him back into the pillow, mouth hot and desperate. “You won’t have to,” Jared promises, voice shaking, rough and thick with emotion.

Promises. God, Jensen wishes he could promise anything. 

He holds on to Jared, rising to meet him as they thrust together, pleasure spreading through him, bone-searing deep until he comes, Jared sliding in and out of him, pushing deeper, rocking into the sweet spot, mouth sealed to his, one hand cupping Jensen’s face, the other locked around his cock.

Jared doesn’t pull very far away afterward—just far enough to dispose of the condom—and Jensen turns on his side, turning Jared with him and pulling him in, Jared’s back pressed against his chest. Jared reaches back, drawing Jensen’s arm around his body, Jensen’s hand held tight in his. 

Jared curls even deeper into the curve of Jensen’s body, and this isn’t a good position for them to be in; it would take him precious milliseconds to untangle himself from Jared if anything happened. But the FBI is right outside their door and Jared’s stalker didn’t plan for that, won’t be ready to do anything about that tonight. 

For tonight, they’re as safe as Jensen’s reasonably sure they can be.

He slings his calf across Jared’s and pulls him closer. 

 

 

Jensen had expected having the FBI around to take some getting used to, but they don’t seem interested in giving him time to acclimate.

The next two days are a constant swirl of action and preparation, gearing up for Jared’s appearance at the MTV Movie Awards. He’s been nominated for “Biggest Badass Star” for his part in _Kissing Daylight_ last year, and is not only likely to win; he’s favored by a huge margin against his fellow nominees by every single media source that’s paying attention. 

This is going to be a very big, very public production, and Jensen had his own plans for how he’d intended to handle it. It would be a dramatic place for the hit; to take Jared out onstage while he’s giving his acceptance speech—the perfect, public shocker that a killer like this would enjoy.

At least the FBI agrees with him about that much.

What they disagree on is that the FBI thinks Jared should attend. They seem to think this will give them a chance to catch the killer.

“So you’re going to use him as bait?”

“If we thought we could catch him any other way, we would. But you know yourself that he’s enough of a professional not leave a trace behind in any of his letters, or on camera. Trust me, Mr. Ackles; we never had any luck either. This could be the only chance we have.”

It makes perfect, logical sense. 

Jensen hates the idea completely.

 

The day of the event, the FBI spends the afternoon going over exit strategies with Jared and Jensen, and they’re thorough enough, but it’s clear that they’re banking on the six agents surrounding Jared to be more than enough protection and deterrent.

“We can’t guarantee that he’ll strike tonight at all,” Sterling says, and Jared glances up, meeting the agent’s eyes for a moment. Jared doesn’t say anything though, just looks back down at his hands, shoulders drawn down towards his chest.

“But you’re going to treat the situation as if he will?” Jensen asks.

“Of course,” Sterling assures him.

“Can we go now?” Jared shifts in his seat, rising from it abruptly.

“We’ll see you tonight, Mr. Padalecki.”

“Jared,” Jensen says when they’re outside the door. “What’s wrong?”

Jared shakes his head, hair swaying back and forth, brushing against his cheeks. “Just… worried.”

Jensen understands all too well. “Not the slightest bit excited?” Jensen asks, trying to lighten the situation. One corner of Jared’s mouth tugs a little, wry and unamused.

“No. Not really. I wouldn’t even go if…” Jared trails off and sighs. “But this is a chance for them to catch him.”

It is. But it’s risky as hell, and Jensen would be lying if he tried to convince Jared he wasn’t worried. 

“They’re the FBI,” he says after a moment. “And as much as I hate to admit it, they’re probably pretty good at their jobs.”

Jared tilts his head to the side, craning his neck to look over at Jensen. “But not as good as you,” he concludes, and it isn’t a question.

No, not even close, Jensen thinks, and he wouldn’t trust them to do the job at all if he thought he could trust himself completely.

“I’ll be there too,” he says, instead.

Jared looks about as reassured as Jensen feels.

“Whatever happens,” Jared says, stepping forward, suddenly earnest as he takes Jensen’s hands in his. “Remember that I love you.”

“I know,” Jensen answers, voice low. 

He lets the words stand for a moment, looking back into Jared’s eyes, and then he squeezes Jared’s hands once. 

“Now stop being such a drama queen and go get ready,” Jensen tells him, teasing gently.

The smile Jared gives him is so faint he can barely see it. But at least it’s something.

 

Jensen sees Jared off to his room. “I’ll leave Mr. Bennet here,” he tells Jared, pulling him in close inside the room. He kisses Jared, lingering briefly, and Jared’s hands clench against his waist, pulling him even closer.

“I wish we had time,” Jensen murmurs against Jared’s mouth, and Jared makes a disappointed sound before he pulls back.

Jensen leaves him with a last look, and Christ, Jensen wishes he could erase the miserable expression from Jared’s face.

Back in his room, he’s got his own preparations to make, shaving for the second time today before he gets into his tuxedo, carefully doing up all the buttons, finishing with the bow tie tied neatly around his neck. He slides on his side holster, pushing the length of leather through the buckle, tugging it back and then down over the prong with the ease of years of practice. It slots into place, familiar weight of his gun settling against his ribs, and he pushes the leather out the other side of the buckle, smoothing the end down.

He puts on his ankle holster next, and pulls on his tuxedo jacket last, shrugging into it and straightening the lines in the full length mirror. He smoothes the front and looks himself up and down once.

He _looks_ like he’s ready.

He’s not sure how ready he is; he just knows he has to be.

He will be.

 

It’s a red carpet event, and it’s filled with stars streaming by in glittering gowns and tuxedos amidst the blinding pop of flash bulbs. Jensen stays just outside the cluster of agents loosely surrounding Emma and Jared on their way inside, watching the crowd carefully. He can hear security reporting in on his earpiece, each of them announcing ‘all clear’ from different points inside and outside the building. There’s a slight bit of reassurance in it, knowing that there are agents scattered across the rooftops watching for snipers there and on the ground, but not being directly at Jared’s side is making him uneasy.

Jared and Emma stop every few feet to smile and pose, Emma with an arm linked through Jared’s, tiny frame leaning in against Jared’s arm, and Jensen’s practically blinded by the flash of hundreds of cameras each time. He has to avert his eyes as much as he can from the scene, turning to look around and behind them, knowing he’s better off doing that than allowing the flashes to burn into his retinas and leave him unable to see for the next minute or two.

He only feels marginally more comfortable after they’ve run the gauntlet outside, elegant walls of the building closing in around them. It’s a respite, being able to keep track of a much smaller crowd, but Jensen knows how brief it’s going to be.

He’s studied the layout plans for this building to the point of memorization, and they’ve known where Jared’s sitting for weeks. He isn’t any happier with the placement now than he was then, the seat in the quarter front half of the seating between the stage and the back of the room, almost perfectly centered on the stage. Directly in the middle of everyone in the room, leaving Jared vulnerable from every angle, including the balconies lining the back of the room above. It’s a perfect set up for a kill, Jared exposed, security not quite close enough to block a shot, and it makes Jensen extremely uncomfortable. The fact that the balconies are all closed for the event is a double-edged sword. There’s security up there too, but not on every single balcony. 

The agents scatter, taking up their positions as Jared and Emma move along the row to their seats. Jensen takes position on the aisle furthest right, facing so that he can see Jared, eyes scanning the crowd around him, the balconies spreading out above them. The FBI had agreed to bring Jared in slightly late so that the crowd would be mostly settled by the time he got there, and Jensen is profoundly grateful not to be surrounded by a stream of bodies blocking his view. He glances at Jared briefly, and Jared’s putting up a good front, smiling at Emma when she speaks to him, but Jensen can see how pinched and strained his eyes are. 

Jensen looks away, keeping Jared in his peripheral while he scans the room again. All the other events he’d been to with Jared were smaller, more casual. This is the first major event Jensen’s had to accompany him to, and the sheer amount of people in the room is screwing with his senses, despite the fact that they’re all mostly sitting and speaking quietly to one another. He’s been to big events before—he’s been to press conferences and addresses on duty with political figures, but he was always right by their side.

The ceremony begins a few minutes later, and Jensen’s only distantly aware of the voice speaking over the microphone, words fading into a dull drone. Jared’s category won’t be announced until midway through the program, and there’s more than an hour between now and then. At least the crowd goes mostly still and silent, attention riveted on the stage behind him.

Emma and Jared clap politely throughout the ceremony, and Jensen stays alert, eyes constantly in motion, feeling the tickling in the pit of his stomach get stronger with each passing moment. He’s on edge, and he’s used to that from hours spent observing an enemy, or worse, having to wait silently until an enemy passed by. It’s completely human, something every soldier feels when their life is in danger, and the military taught him how to co-exist with fear for his own life. He only wishes it was his own life he was worried about.

He takes a breath and holds it for a second before exhaling; tilting his head left and then right to ease the tension in his muscles. His eyes rove the upper balconies again, following their semi-circular arc… and he hesitates on one, squinting at the darkened alcove to the right of where Jared’s sitting. It’s shadowy, vacant like the rest of them, but… there. Just the slightest movement of the velvet curtains and Jensen’s in motion, radioing security as he takes the aisle at top speed and then the stairs to the upper level two at a time. Behind him, Jared is being announced as a nominee. Jensen can imagine Jared smiling, rising from his seat to walk down the aisle, the killer centering the back of Jared’s head in the crosshairs—

The main hallways of the building are semi-circular, and he runs in the direction of the balcony at breakneck speed, gun in his right hand. He can hear the footsteps of security coming up behind him, in the distance, and further away, the sound of Jared’s name being announced over the microphone as the winner. Thunderous applause echoes through the empty hallways and he sprints the last few feet to the balcony door.

He barely gets his hand on the handle to the balcony door when it flies open, slamming into him. The weight of a body hits him, tangling up in him and pushing him to the floor. He hits the concrete floor hard, the other person falling with him for a moment before they scramble up, and take off running past him. Jensen flips over, feet pushing him off the floor in a sprint, and damn the hallways in this place—the guy is just beyond his range of vision around the curve of the wall, footsteps pounding. The echo of Jared’s voice over the microphone fills the hallway and the sound propels him forward even harder. He can see the guy now, dark-haired and dressed in a tuxedo and pushes everything into a final burst, overtaking the guy and tumbling them both to the floor.

They hit hard, Jensen rolling to force the other guy to take the brunt of the fall, grunt of pain from beneath him as they roll. Jensen’s on top of him the instant they stop, throwing the man over on his back and straddling him, legs pinning the man’s arms against his body, gun pointed at his face. Jensen’s hands are steady, gaze level, out of breath as he stares.

The kid can’t be more than twenty-one, his eyes wide with terror as he stares at Jensen’s gun, nostrils flaring as he struggles to catch his breath.

“I just wanted some pictures,” the kid pleads in a rush. “They’re on my phone. Take it, man. Please don’t kill me.”

For a split second, the words don’t make sense, adrenaline rushing through him, roar of it filling his ears, his brain, his finger on the trigger… and then the situation clicks into place.

Jensen sits back, slowly un-cocking the gun and lowering it. God _dammit_. Just some stupid fucking kid that snuck in hoping to get some pictures.

Security arrives in a thundering of footsteps, spreading out around them in a circle. The agents and building security have their guns drawn and trained on the kid, and Jensen shakes his head, getting his feet under him and standing straight up. He touches his earpiece. “Stand down. Repeat, stand down. It’s not him.”

The men around him lower their guns, and building security is stepping forward to pick the young man off the floor when the radio crackles to life. “Understood. Preventative measures already initiated. We’re moving out early. Repeat, moving out early. Exit C.”

“Wait for me,” Jensen snaps, already knowing it’s far too late. They’re shuttling Jared out the side entrance, probably started pushing him that way the second he got off stage. Jensen runs for the exit door the kid had been angling towards, kicking it open and tearing off down the stairs. He’s all the way on the other side of the building, and he’s never going to make it in time, but it isn’t going to stop him from trying. 

He shoves open the door to the street and keeps running without hesitation down the sidewalk towards the other side of the building. Jesus, he wouldn’t be surprised if the kid was some kind of decoy, paid to distract half of security while the killer waited for them to push Jared out into the open early--without the crowds, without anyone but agents surrounding him.

His heart is pounding so hard he can feel it thud inside his head, thigh muscles straining, quivering with the effort of another hard sprint so close on the heels of the last one. He feels it, but he doesn’t care, car headlights streaking past him on one side, fine rain beginning to mist on the air, tiny droplets spattering against his skin. 

A gunshot shatters the hum of cars and background noise, ringing out in the distance against the night air. The sound hits him so hard that he almost stumbles, regaining his footing, fear and panic lending him a fresh burst of speed.

No. God. No. _Please_ NO.

The radio flares to life with a crackle of static, explosion of voices all trying to speak at once, and Jensen feels his stomach flip over inside him at the sound of panic. 

“Package has been hit. Repeat package hit, man down--”

No no no no no.

He runs flat out, giving it everything he has left, not even feeling the strain, whole world narrowed to a single word and thought, tears rising in his eyes, leaving him blind. 

_Jared._

The heels of his dress shoes skid against the slick asphalt of the side entrance, and he slips, skidding sideways as he takes the turn around the corner of the building, feet nearly going out from underneath him. He rights himself through sheer force of will, slowing a notch for a split second until he’s got his balance again.

He plows into the crowd gathered around the entrance, shoving and pushing his way through them. He can’t help but be aware of how easily they give way, without a shout or a look, their attention fixed on the scene in front of them. Every nerve in his body is standing on end, sick panic filling his stomach with dread.

He thrusts his way through to the front of the crowd. There are agents everywhere, pushing back the crowd, bodies blocking the scene and moving behind the lines in a hurry. Jensen ducks under the rope without hesitating, and the agent who makes the mistake of trying to stop him gets an elbow to the face, goes spinning to the ground as Jensen moves past him. He can see a cluster of agents gathered behind an ambulance, and he moves, running for it.

He’s too late. Too late to do fucking _anything_. But it isn’t going to stop him.

The first agent slams into his side, and Jensen grabs him, turning with the momentum and throwing the man across his body. The first agent hits the asphalt on flat on his back as the second dives for Jensen’s feet, and Jensen can’t stop himself from falling this time, feet simply gone from underneath him. He pitches his body and rolls on his right shoulder, foot lashing out and kicking the agent under the jaw with enough force to leave the man unconscious, following through the motion as he spins over and leaps to his feet.

He gets two more steps before another agent blocks his way, and Jensen dodges under the man’s fist, coming up and under the agent’s right arm, elbow thrusting backward and connecting with the man’s kidney. 

They’re all on him then, shoving him to the ground, weight of half a dozen bodies pressing him down, and he makes every shot he can manage count. He _has_ to get to the ambulance, has to get to Jared’s side—

Something hits him _hard_ in the temple, and the whole world shakes, going gray. He throws a punch in the direction of the nearest target, already beginning to go under as it connects.

The last thing he feels is the raw panic in his chest at the knowledge that he’s not going to get to Jared.

And then he’s gone.

 

He comes to, eyes not even fully open yet when he sits up from the pavement and leaps to his feet. The pain of his aching head follows immediately behind, and he sways on his feet for a moment, pushing through it.

“Jensen,” someone says, and then Emma falls into him, clutching at him desperately. Her pretty face is streaked black with make-up and tears, green eyes wide with shock as she stares up at him. “They took Jared to the hospital. They wouldn’t… they wouldn’t let me go with him,” she chokes, sobbing. “Wouldn’t let anyone.”

Jared. God. _Jared_.

There are shocked, stunned faces all around them, the crowd almost eerily silent, agents pacing around the area, police cording off the scene of the crime. Security is prattling on about losing the shooter, and the only reason they’re not all over him is because they’ve fucked up so spectacularly.

Jensen wants to kill them all, wants to do so many things. 

Jensen clicks his earpiece, switching to a different channel.

“Chad. Exit C. Now.”

Emma’s body is warm, pressed against him, and he leans into her, her slight weight balancing him, holding him upright.

 

They won’t tell him anything at the hospital except that Jared’s in surgery. Jensen assumes Jared’s family must already be here, probably cordoned off in a separate waiting area to prevent people from bothering them. He can’t do anything else but wait, and even if he waited, he’s not family. Emma stays by his side, hand curling around his upper arm, fingers gripping his bicep tightly, and it’s all that keeps him tethered to sanity; all that keeps him from flying across the counter, grabbing the nurse by the collar of her uniform and shaking her until she tells him exactly what he wants to know.

He does the only thing he can. He goes back to the house with Emma and waits with her and Ethan and Mike and Chad. He’d wait alone, but he wants to know immediately, the instant something happens, and Ethan is the one family will contact first. Emma sits beside him on the leather sofa, body pressed against his side, and he can feel her hitch in a breath now and then, sniffling against tears. Mike and Ethan are grave and silent; Ethan sitting behind his desk and staring at the phone, Mike perched on the edge of a leather chair, staring at nothing. Chad is the only one who moves, pacing agitatedly through the room, running fingers through his thick blond hair with each turn. 

All Jensen can think about is Jared, picturing him over and over as he walks out of the building, surrounded by security, smiling and waving, leaning in to whisper something to Emma. Gunshot splitting the noise, body flung backward by the impact of the bullet hitting him in the chest, agents leaping to cover him too late, shoving Emma away and laying Jared on the ground. 

Jensen feels numb, calm inside, like he can’t feel anything anymore, and he knows shock well enough to recognize it. 

At 5:30 a.m., the sun is beginning to crest, faint blue light shining through the slats of the blinds in Ethan’s office. The phone rings, sharp and shrilly, and Jensen rises to his feet as Ethan snatches it from the desk. 

“Agent Sterling. Yes. I…” Ethan hesitates, and Jensen watches as the old man’s face works through a series of emotions—shock, horror, disbelief—before it crumples, eyes brimming with tears and spilling over, one hand clamping over his mouth.

God. No. It can’t be. It _can’t_ be.

The world feels like it’s spinning all around him, voice in his head denying it over and over even as his heart knows it’s true.

“I understand,” Ethan whispers, hands shaking as he hangs up. He stands there for a long moment, half-rising to his feet and halting there, as if he’d forgotten mid-way what he’s supposed to be doing, hands falling on the desk in front of him to hold his weight. 

It’s early morning, sunlight cutting through blinds, birds chirping beyond the silence of the room, world waking up and just beginning.

“Ethan,” Chad’s voice bottoms out on the end of the man’s name.

Ethan looks up at all of them like he’d forgotten they were there, back of one hand dragging across his mouth, staring at them with shell-shocked eyes.

“Jared’s…” Ethan’s voice breaks, cracking across the syllables. “He didn’t make it,” Ethan whispers.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

It’s early afternoon, and Jensen hasn’t had a bit of sleep. Isn’t sure he’s going to sleep ever again.

He stands at the end of the bed in his room, looking at the suitcases he’s packed, squared leather laid out on the comforter.

He can still smell Jared everywhere, can almost hear him; expects him to turn the corner, or open the door at any moment. Part of him is waiting for Jared to walk up behind him, those hands sliding around his waist, playful words whispered into his ear, making him laugh. To feel the warmth of him, the weight of him, so close and secure. 

Jared surrounds him, still filling every single one of his senses; sees that smile behind his eyes, laughter still echoing in his ears.

_Whatever happens… remember that I love you._

Jensen grabs the open edge of his suitcase, fists closing on it with crushing force.

He should have known better. He should have stopped Jared from going. And the blame rests with him in a way it will never fall on anyone else. 

_I love you…_

The words feel so real, he can _hear_ them, feel Jared pressed against him, smooth skin of his chest to Jensen’s back.

He sucks in a shaky breath and opens his eyes. He can’t… be in this place that _is_ Jared. Jared’s dead, and he… he…

He can’t stay here.

*

The hotel room is pristine and clean and perfect. It’s the perfect image of an almost homey haven, safe and completely sane. Impassive and constant, it doesn’t carry anything of the people who pass through it. It’s a tabula rasa that will never be written upon.

And he’d thought… this was what he’d needed; a place bereft of identity, distance from anything tethering him to… to… 

He bites down hard against his lower lip, hands squeezing the handles of his suitcases so hard that he can hear his knuckles crack, sound echoing loudly inside the too-bare walls of the room.

This … it’s just more emptiness. More silence and lack. He’s more alone than he was at Jared’s home, and he… he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse.

His hands are shaking, still wrapped around the handles of his luggage, knuckles gone white, and he takes a deep breath, tries to remember his training. Tries to remember that this is just another thing he has to get through. 

His survival instincts tell him that he has to push it away, has to keep it at a distance, because if he lets this in…

God… if he lets this in…

It will bury itself in his _bones_ , so soul-deep that it will stay for the rest of his life. Like an old friend dropping by for tea, it will always be there, just around the corner, constant memory just beneath the surface of anything else he ever does.

_\--If he ever loved you… he’d want you to go on--_

He closes his eyes tight, biting his lower lip so hard that he breaks the skin. Coppery burst against his tongue, and it doesn’t soothe him, doesn’t center him, and he doesn’t _care_.

He wants everything Jared ever was, wants every moment to stay with him. He wants it all—the love, the jagged hole ripped right through his middle, aching and calling out Jared’s name. He wants to cradle it close and keep it forever, use it to nurture the rage that follows just behind, vengeance written indelibly into his bones.

Let it in, he thinks, teeth grinding viciously into his lower lip. Let it stay. 

He smashes the suitcases against the wall, every ounce of his strength behind the force.

It feels raw, feels right, and he kicks the belly of one of the bags, sending it crashing into the wall again. He wants to crush it, destroy it, rage like a red-hot knife blade slicing through his veins. He fixes his eyes on it, rectangular shape angled against the wall and the floor.

Fury, pounding through him in a rush and it feels so good. A few seconds reprieve… and then it all hits him. Everything breaking open in a rush of reckless grief, world cracking wide open, splitting and shattering, until there’s nothing left except his heart, hollowed out and scraped raw.

He staggers under the weight and turns, falling to his knees at the bedside, face burrowing into the comforter, fists hitting the mattress. He twists his cheek against the blanket, hands grabbing at the material and clenching. 

Every nerve, every muscle cries out Jared’s name, raw and desperate for his touch, eyes starving for the sight of his face. He wants it more than he’s ever wanted _anything_. Barriers smashed and destroyed by a crushing tidal wave of _need_ , and he doesn’t have any defense against this. He doesn’t want to.

God, he just wants him back. Please. Anything. God, anything.

_Please, God, give him back._

_**Give him back.** _

 

*

 

When it ends, he doesn’t sleep, even though he’s beyond exhausted. His face feels plastered over, stiff with dried tears, and still, all he can do is stare at the ceiling, memory of the evening before playing itself over and over again.

He’d been wrong about Jared. He’d never told him that. That Jared wasn’t just some shallow Hollywood asshole. 

He’d never told him. And now he never will.

_\--You never forget anything, do you, Jensen? You carry every single scar with you--_

Words out of memory and time, and he pushes them away.

His phone rings in his pants pocket, and even his clothes smell like Jared, edge of Jared’s cologne still lingering, blending all too easily into Jared’s skin and sweat. He’s wanted to strip out of them for hours—wanted to curl up and drown himself in the scent.

He pulls the phone from his pocket out of habit, staring at it from a long distance away.

It’s Ethan. He should answer it. 

He lets it go to voicemail instead.

It’s hours later when he finally listens to the message.

He isn’t invited to the wake; it’s small private ceremony for family only. The family funeral will be held in three days in another private ceremony, with a secondary private ceremony to follow for non-family members like Chad, Emma, Ethan, Mike, and a few others. There hasn’t been anything reported beyond Jared being shot. With the family’s permission, the FBI wants to keep Jared’s death out of the press until after the killer has been caught. For now the only official statement being issued to the public is that Jared is in intensive care and in critical condition. 

They’re... pretending that Jared is alive.

It’s a lie. Such a cruel fucking lie that Jensen wants to put his fist through the flowered wallpaper of the hotel room.

He doesn’t.

He leaves the room and walks straight to the liquor store across the street.

He buys three bottles of whiskey and walks back to the hotel.

*

 

He doesn’t leave the room for the next two days. He doesn’t answer his phone, he doesn’t turn on the TV, and he drinks more than enough to make sure he doesn’t dream.

 

*

On the day of Jared’s funeral, there are three empty bottles lined up on the desk of his hotel room. He wakes early and walks to the bathroom, head pounding, mouth dry and heart aching. He stares at himself in the mirror, eyes puffy and red and lost.

_You have to get through this. Just get through it._

It still doesn’t seem real. Even as he goes through the motions, hot water pouring over his shoulders in the shower, almost burning his skin, everything feels so far away that he can barely touch it. A story he read once that happened to someone else, and Jared’s still alive somewhere, smiling and waiting for Jensen to discover him.

He can’t be gone. He can’t just be gone.

Sorrow hits him with wracking force, devouring him whole, leaving him weak against the wall, muscles shivering beneath the hot water, washcloth clenched in his hand.

_Please, God. Don’t let it be true. It can’t be true._

His knees give out, and he slides down the wall, tile pulling at the skin of his back until his ass hits the bottom of the tub. He shoves the washcloth against his face, fist balling around it until his knuckles crack, teeth biting into the cloth as his eyes shut tight, tears spilling out all over again.

 _I love him. I love him so fucking **much**. Doesn’t that count for something?_

_Please._

 

*

 

He doesn’t know how much later it is when the water’s gone cold, body shivering with more than emotion. 

He stays there a while longer, staring sightlessly at the bottom of the tub, water swirling away meaninglessly down the drain. 

Meaningless. It’s all so completely and totally empty that he feels like he’s woken to a whole new world. 

_You felt this before._

No. He hasn’t. 

Not like this.

 

*

 

It’s a long time later when he stands in front of the mirror, clean and shaven, dressed and ready.

All he can think is that he has to go out in the world—out into the Jared-less world he has to live in now. 

The private car picks him up outside the hotel and delivers him to the cemetery where a small knot of people dressed in black are standing, gathered on a hillside. He walks to meet them in a daze, moving to stand beside Emma, who takes his hand in hers. The sky all around them is gray, threatening rain as the priest begins to speak. Words flow from the man’s mouth, meant to commemorate, comfort and soothe, but Jensen can’t hear them. It’s silent where he is, eyes fixed on the ground in front of him, and if he just focuses on that, he can get through this.

He only knows that it’s done when Emma squeezes his hand, looking up at him with wet, green eyes from beneath the brim of her black hat. She lets go then, walking to the casket covered in mounds of flowers of every color, and places a single, tiny hand on the shiny wood, bowing her head.

People are beginning to scatter, most of them too grief-stricken to speak to each other, and Jensen watches them pass by, each saying goodbye in their own way. Emma leaves last, a gentle kiss pressed against his cheek.

He stands there, staring at the coffin, thinking of Jared lying inside it. Eyes closed, hands crossed over his chest, dressed in his finest suit. There’s nothing left of Jared here—nothing but his body. Nothing but his memory. That warm, sweet smile is all Jensen can see as he walks to the casket, fingers reaching out to stroke the polished wood. He presses his palm flat against the surface, leaning down as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

He isn’t aware of the tears streaming down his face as he presses his lips to the wood in a kiss. His eyes shut tightly, and he breathes out hard, fingers dragging across the wood, hand clenching in a helpless fist.

“I love you,” he breathes.

 

*

It feels like years later when he finally gets into the private car that’s still waiting for him.

He closes the door and the engine starts, hum reverberating through the seat. The world blurs outside the car windows, trees rushing by and smearing together, leaving Jared behind him. 

It doesn’t feel right. It feels like the most wrong thing he’s ever done. He reaches up, hand grabbing hard at his hair, tugging his face to the side. 

“You all right, sir?” The driver glances up at him in the rearview mirror and Jensen meets his eyes for one, glancing second before he looks away again.

“Just fucking drive,” Jensen breathes, fingers in his hair tightening into a fist, strands pulled too hard and tight.

There’s nothing but the world blurring by, and Jared’s further away from him with every moment.

“I know it’s tough,” the driver speaks up, sounding almost hesitant. “Losing someone who’s important to you.”

“You don’t know shit,” Jensen informs him, hand pulling from his hair, closing around his chin, teeth biting deep into his thumb.

“I know my job is to drive… but I might know more about it than you think,” the driver responds, quietly. “You loved him, right? I mean… I can see it. You don’t… feel _that_ kind of pain without loving someone.”

Jensen pulls his thumb from between his teeth, hand flexing, clutching convulsively, biting down hard against his jaw. “I do _not_ ,” he whispers, succinctly, “want to talk about this.”

“I know,” the driver goes on, car shifting slightly as they round a curve in the road. “But… you know… I went through something similar. Sometimes, it helps to hear. Share the pain.”

Rain patters against the roof, steady drilling sound that works right inside Jensen’s brain, and all he wants is to lose himself in it.

“I was in love with this man,” the driver begins. “Hell of a man. Never saw anyone hotter, never was anyone better at what he did. We were brothers in spirit. Lovers.”

Jensen can barely hear him over the sound of rain, over the sound of empty wind rushing all through him, but he can’t shut out the low gravel of the voice. 

“We… knew who we were,” the driver goes on, passionate and wistful. “He loved me… and all my life, I don’t think anyone ever loved me more.” 

The driver hesitates, windshield wipers swishing in the rain.

“And then… one day… he went away. He decided he didn’t want to be who he was anymore.”

Outside, the trees blur by, sound of wet tires and splashing water. Jensen’s eyes wander to the drivers hands on the white leather steering wheel, stark contrast against the sleek black-leathered hands.

“He decided he wasn’t the same… that he wasn’t part of _me_ , anymore.”

The words seem to float to him, swirling through the dark, hazy cloud inside him. Faraway and so close, as if they were being whispered into his ear from across a great distance.

“I… tried to go on without him…But instead...” 

Each syllable suspended heavily on the air.

“I died.”

Silence; wind caressing the sleek car, rain streaking the windows. Silence; and it crushes Jensen like a living thing, some distant part of his brain slowly waking.

“We all died.”

For a moment, suspended outside reality and time, Jensen thinks he is imagining it all; ghosts rising from the past, clawing their way up through his grief, dead crawling from their graves, come to torment him for his crimes.

Slowly, so slowly, like a man caught in a dream, Jensen’s eyes rise to meet the driver’s in the rearview mirror.

Those eyes; bright, sharp, cowboy-faded blue.

_eight times out of ten, when someone is being stalked and threatened by a would-be killer? It’s someone they know personally_

_It’s almost **always** personal_.

A chill runs through him, rushing skin to bone, cold and hollow. 

_I’ll destroy everything you love_

_So do we pass the ghosts that haunt us later in our lives…_

“My _God_ ,” Jensen breathes, sick and broken. “Misha.”

“Goddamned right,” Misha says, and smiles. The curve of his mouth is wicked and cold; nothing like the mouth Jensen kissed so long ago on those worn, wooden docks, wind pushing between them, salt of the ocean caught in the taste.

Jensen doesn’t… this isn’t… 

“You’re not hallucinating,” Misha tells him in all sincerity. “I’m here.”

The words hit Jensen with the force of a building collapsing, everything inside him imploding.

“Always knew I’d make a damned pretty corpse. What do you think, Jen?” Words thrown with an airy, charming vanity that’s as fake as it is sincere.

This must be what going mad feels like.

“So did it help, hearing all that? I do so love to share the pain,” Misha purrs, throat caressing the words like he relishes them. “I’ve had so much fun sharing it with you, Jen… stalking you…” Misha’s eyes are piercing, savage in the rearview mirror. “Killing your boyfriend.”

Jensen swallows once, brain catching up in the split second before he dives, rolling to the side of the backseat. Gun in his hands, quick and steady, and the car swerves hard to the left, tires skidding against wet asphalt, and Jensen’s got his shoulders locked against hard, white leather, barrel aiming—

The car yanks to the right, throwing Jensen’s aim out of line, whole world careening out of control, weight rolling forward hard as Misha hits the brakes—and then the gas, slamming Jensen’s head against the edge of the seat, body thrown backwards.

“You never were much for talking, were you, Jensen?” Misha asks, wry. “Hell. You’re right. Screw the small talk. Let’s get right to it,” Misha says, shoving down on the gas harder as they take another curve. “You abandoned me, Jen. Abandoned all of us. And then you had the nerve…” Jensen can feel Misha’s amazement, “to fall in love with _someone else_ after you left me to die?”

The car jerks to the left, throwing Jensen’s balance off again. “Don’t worry—I left him to die too,” Jensen says with a ragged, bitter laugh, feeling like he might keep laughing until he’s sick with it, because Jared’s dead, and Misha’s alive, and nothing’s the way it should be.

“Thanks for that opening by the way,” Misha says, and Jensen can _hear_ the predatory expression on his face. “Would’ve been a hell of a lot harder, getting that bullet past you.”

“I am going to _end_ you,” Jensen promises, all thought driven out by the words, legs pistoning up from the floor of the car, gun leveling on—

The bullet takes him with complete, visceral agony, shattering through his breastbone and halting his breath.

This is what Jared felt. 

Jensen falls back against the seat, smearing red against the leather. Misha throws the car to one side and then the other and Jensen can feel the world drifting further away, life bleeding out through the hole in his chest.

Jensen coughs, shoving one hand against the wound, stemming the flow of blood.

“Now…” Misha says, almost cordial as he points the gun backwards across the edge of the front seat. “Maybe we can have a decent conversation. I mean,” Misha chokes off a bitter laugh. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious?” Jensen can just see the edge of Misha’s eyes flicking up to look at him in the rearview. 

“So outraged,” Misha chuckles darkly. “Can’t think about anything besides _him_ , can you?”

Jensen draws in a thick breath. There’s a calmness creeping in around the edges of adrenaline, a steadiness that he knows is shock. 

“I spent the last three years taking care of other business.” Misha begins, breezily. “I was saving you for last. Then… there was a picture of you two, in some magazine… and I saw the way you looked at him… and I knew. I know you, Jen. You always looked at me the same exact way; like I was some kind of idiot you only put up with because you loved me.” Misha’s voice loses its airiness on the last words, catching on the syllables.

“So…” Misha clears his throat. “I tracked down the reason you were guarding him and killed the pathetic stalker. Took over the enterprise, you might say, after that.”

Jensen only wants to know one thing. “Why?” Jensen gasps. “Why kill him? You could have… killed me a long time ago.”

Misha laughs, throwing his head back. “Oh, Jensen, you never change. So righteous… so naïve…” Misha shakes his head, sounding almost rueful. “It’s one of the things I always loved about you.”

“Answer... the question,” Jensen grates.

“Because it _hurt_ you,” Misha says, drawing out the words. “After I saw how you loved him? No way I could kill you without you knowing how it felt to lose him.”

Jensen laughs bitterly, wincing against the pain, the irony not lost on him. “I spent the last four years mourning you… feeling like it was my fault. I… thought you were…dead...” Jensen gasps, hard, bright pain shooting through his lungs, liquid sputtering in them, harshing the words. Blood. He’s not going to live through this, and that’s okay, because he’s going to get to take Jared’s murderer with him.

“I lived, Jensen. I was the only one. Body never found… lost at sea, they said. Great perk about being a Navy SEAL? Your body gets lost in the ocean; they don’t look for it very long. But we _didn’t_ get lost at sea,” Misha assures him, vehement. “We got pinned down by the enemy and caught. They caught us and they _tortured_ us. They _enjoyed it_ ,” Misha hisses the words. 

“I watched them kill the whole team before they got to me… and when they did start in on me… there was only one thing that kept me alive. Only one thing that helped me survive long enough to escape.”

“You, Jen.” Misha’s eyes fix on his in the mirror, hot enough to burn holes through him. “You abandoned us. The whole time I was being tortured... _You_ were all I could think about. How everything, every bit of it… was all. Your. Fault.”

_\--We were brothers—_

“I _needed_ to live, to get revenge on you. And now that I have?” Misha yanks the car hard left. “I’m over living.”

Jensen knows. He understands _intimately_.

Misha leaps over and into the backseat with him, familiar weight pressing against Jensen, car flying out of control, muzzle of his gun riding the line of Jensen’s pulse.

_\--We’re assassins. It’s in our blood.--_

“I don’t need to live, Jen. I just need to know that you _don’t_ ,” Misha says, words slow and intimate against Jensen’s mouth.

\--tires sliding off the road, eating away at grass and mud—

“We go together,” Jensen whispers, pressing the barrel of his gun against Misha’s side.

“Like it always should have been,” Misha whispers back.

_\--Killing is what we do--_

The sound of a gunshot reverberates, echoing in his ears, down the corridor of years.

Searing, violent pain, whole body wrenching, and he’s only ever felt one other thing this _deep_.

He feels the car impact against something abrupt and _hard_. Screeching rush of crushing force, whole world folding in around him, blood and weight and exploding glass. He feels his body go flying, shattering against metal, and thinks,

 _Finally_.

*

 

 

He is drifting in darkness, and it swallows him up, licking up his heels and encasing him, tugging him down, holding him close. It’s comfortable, intimate, shadows closing around him and pulling him deep.

He wants to sink into its velvety embrace; wants to follow it down like a lover. 

But there’s another pull, voice cascading down into the depths.

“You’re not supposed to die.”

“Don’t you _dare_ fucking die.”

 

 

*

His eyes flutter open, momentarily blinded by the brightness of the light. The first thing he’s aware of is pain; pain rioting through him like an angry mob, chest and arms and legs and eyelids. Every single inch of him hurts and throbs, and if there’s one thing he learned in the military, it’s that pain means he isn’t dead.

Alive. He’s alive. And he didn’t plan for this.

He was supposed to die. He _wanted_ to die. Now he’s broken and useless, and Jared is still dead.

He looks down and sees the casts on both his legs, another fitted to his right arm. He can feel the bandages covering his chest, the tightness of the stitches holding the skin together beneath.

Everything is white, sanitary and stinking of antiseptic, and it all clicks into place.

Hospital. He’s in a hospital. And he needs more drugs, because Jesus fucking Christ--

“Jensen?”

So many emotions all at once, and Jensen knows that voice, so intimate and close to him that he can feel his heart hesitate and then beat double-fast. It’s what he’s wanted to hear for days, the same sound he’s imagined inside his head for so long.

He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to destroy the illusion. But he has to.

Jensen turns his head, craning his neck slowly, feeling the cords of muscle creak with the effort. 

His first thought is that they must have pumped him so full of morphine that it’s a wonder he can feel anything at all. And on the heels of that… maybe he really did die after all.

Jared is sitting beside the bed, and he looks so real, hazel eyes wide and wet, staring at Jensen like he’s the best thing Jared’s ever seen.

“Jensen. Thank God.”

Jared. 

For a moment, Jensen can almost believe what he’s seeing. He wants to believe it, more than he’s ever wanted anything, need surging up from his chest and consuming him. Cruel, inhumane seduction, and God, he wants it _so much_. Wants it more than he wants to breathe. 

Jensen reaches for him, one good arm stretching out, hand closing around those long, strong fingers. Warm, gentle strength, fingers squeezing his. This is good. This is better than good. Better than he’d hoped for.

“Am I…” he licks his lips, and his tongue is just as dry as the rest of him. “Dead?” 

Jared’s eyes well, spilling over, tears trailing down his cheeks as he shakes his head back and forth, hair sweeping across his cheekbones, the way it always did. Strands of hair catch in the wetness on his cheeks, and it’s such a small detail, such a distinct detail.

“No.” Jared whispers out the word, voice guttering out like he can’t bear to speak. “You’re…not dead.” Jared hitches in a breath, mouth breaking into the faintest glimmer of a bitter smile. “And neither am I.”

Jensen squints at him, tilting his head to the side, pillow crinkling against his cheek. “Of course you’re not.” Jensen feels a laugh rise up in his chest, coughing out the sound, pain exploding through his chest. “Sure. Why not? Misha wasn’t dead… why… should you be?” he wheezes. This is completely ridiculous, it’s absurd, and he’s had enough absurdity in his life today, thanks very much. He can’t take any more.

Jensen reaches for the call button. “I need to call the nurse...” he tells Jared, hand closing around the wire, “whatever they gave me… I need more. Because I sure as hell don’t need this.”

“Jensen.” Jared grabs his hand, fingers closing around his, and it feels _real_. “It really is me. I know… I know it doesn’t make any sense…”

“You’re goddamned right it doesn’t make sense. I’m high, and I’m hallucinating, and I need to be put under,” Jensen explains, hand wrapping around the call button. “This can’t be real,” he tells Jared in no uncertain terms. “Because if it is, that means you never died. And that’s impossible.”

“Jensen,” Jared hisses, hand clenching around his, so hard he can feel the pressure through his drug induced haze.

“Jared…” Jensen whispers. “God. You don’t even _know_ how much I want this to be real.” His voice catches in his throat, breaking. 

“I _do_ know,” Jared breathes, earnest as he leans in closer, both hands closing around Jensen’s. 

Jensen knows he’s hallucinating, but he lets go of the call button anyway, because even if Jared’s not really here, Jensen can’t resist him anymore. The sound of his voice, the sight of his face, even as contorted and twisted with pain and sadness as it is… Jensen can… he can let himself have this, for a little while, as long as he knows it isn’t real. Distantly, he hears the call button slide from the bed, striking the floor. 

“I’m so sorry. God, Jensen… I…” Jared trails off, shaking his head. His face breaks in the moment before he turns away.

“The FBI…” Jared goes on, voice rough with emotion. “They knew. They told me… that meeting we had… they said…” Jared sucks in a breath, hands squeezing Jensen so hard that he knows it should hurt. “They said… that it was Misha stalking me. That the only reason he was… was because of _you_.They said… God,” Jared spits, emphatic. “They said he’d kill me first, just to hurt you… and then he’d come for you. I never wanted… fuck…” Jared grates, helplessly. “I never wanted this. But they said he wouldn’t risk exposing himself until after I was out of the way.”

“They said, based on his military psychological profile, he’d want to kill me publicly. They were sure he’d try to kill me at the awards ceremony… either while I was onstage or on the way out…’ Jared trails off again, shaking his head. He looks stricken, so guilty and torn that Jensen can hardly stand to look at him.

“I wore a vest,” Jared finally admits, like he’s admitting to the worst thing he’d ever done in his life. “The FBI left the opening for him to shoot me… and it went off without a hitch,” Jared snorts, the words bitter and harsh, full of self-loathing. “The only thing they were wrong about… was that Misha would come for you during the funeral, while you were… you were grieving,” Jared whispers, grimacing. “By the time they figured out he’d hijacked your car… God. We were almost too late.”

Jensen is rendered speechless for a long moment, brain sputtering and trying to process it all. It’s a nice fantasy—a little _too_ nice—and he’d dismiss it as more craziness due to pain and drugs, except…

This isn’t something he would have come up with in a million years. His brain isn’t _capable_ of making this up any more than he could have made up Misha in the car.

And that means…

His instincts kick in, focus narrowing down and tightening, pushing past the drugs slowing his system. Jensen’s mind races, thinking back to that night at the awards. How the incident with the crasher in the balcony had been perfectly timed… how it had lead him as far away from Jared as possible. The emergency departure while Jensen was busy. The way the FBI had tried to stop him from getting to the ambulance… and God, he’d… he’d never seen Jared’s family… or Jared’s body.

It could be true. It _could_ be.

It can’t be. Because that… that would mean…

His eyes snap up to meet Jared’s, narrowing on him.

“I know,” Jared gasps, almost pleading as he squeezes Jensen’s hand even harder. “I know it’s crazy. It sounds like one of my movies, but God, Jensen,” Jared breathes, leaning in close to him, hazel eyes welling. “I swear it’s all true.”

Jensen can see the wetness catch in Jared’s lower lashes, tiny drop catching the fluorescent light above them, glimmering brightly. He can _smell_ Jared, feel the warmth of his hands wrapped around Jensen’s.

It hits him all at once; this is real. Jared _isn’t_ dead. He didn’t fail Jared, because Jared isn’t _dead_. 

It’s impossible, so unfathomable that it takes a moment for his heart to catch up, a thousand different emotions crashing into him all at once. He wants to laugh, wants to weep with relief, lightheaded and overwhelmed.

Jared is _alive_ , and he… he…

“You let me think you were DEAD,” Jensen growls, voice trembling with rage, tearing his hand from Jared’s.

“I know.” Jared’s voice is a bare whisper, face crumpling, tears spilling over. “Christ, Jensen… they said you were going to _die_ if I didn’t. There’s nothing else they could have said…” Jared is emphatic, everything in him infused with raw emotion. “I did it to save _you_. Because I _love_ you.” Jared’s eyes are intense, burning into Jensen’s, begging him to understand.

“It broke my fucking _heart_ ,” he chokes, “every single second.” 

Jensen only has one good arm, and he knows exactly what he wants to do with it. He punches Jared; fist connecting solidly with his cheek, Jared’s head snapping back—and then he grabs the front of Jared’s shirt, hauling him across the bed, mouth smashing into Jared’s and kissing him hard. Jensen holds him there, tasting the inside of Jared’s mouth, tongues tangling in a slick swirl, too desperate to be anything but messy. 

“God damn you, Jared,” he whispers, his cheeks wet with tears. “I wanted to die.” 

“God, Jensen,” Jared whispers, voice breaking, hands touching Jensen’s face. “I couldn’t even _breathe_ without you.”

Jensen pushes Jared away, just wanting to look at him for a moment, fingers stroking Jared’s face, wiping away the wetness at the corner of one of Jared’s eyes. He pulls his hand away… and punches Jared in the other cheek. Jared reels back, hand coming up to cover his face, eyes wide with surprise.

“You’re goddamned lucky I love you,” Jensen tells him, and yanks him in.

Jensen kisses him slower this time, more sweetly, deep and lingering, taking his time mapping out Jared’s mouth, and Jared whimpers into Jensen’s mouth, tugging Jensen in closer, like he can’t be close enough. “I love you, Jensen,” Jared murmurs, “God, so much more than anything.”

Jensen kisses him until he can barely breathe, finally dragging his mouth away from Jared’s. 

“It killed me to do this to you,” Jared whispers, vehement. “I’m so fucking sorry. I just… I hope you can forgive me.”

Two days ago, he might have eaten live babies if he’d thought it would bring Jared back. Jensen thinks he could forgive _anything_. But this… especially this. Even though it had nearly killed him emotionally, Jared did it to save him.

“Already done,” he whispers. 

It occurs to him then, that he still doesn’t know whether or not the plan worked. Jesus, how could he have forgotten--

“Misha?” he asks urgently.

Jared’s face falls, and Jensen knows instantly what it means, heart sinking into his stomach. “They found blood at the wreckage, more than yours, but he was gone.”

“How long has it been?” Jensen demands. He forces his will over the effect of the drugs even harder, pushing his mind to think, calculate.

“It’s 3 a.m. the next morning.” Jared shakes his head incredulously, staring at Jensen. “God, you shouldn’t even be talking, much less hitting me.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Jensen says, wheels turning. “He’ll come for me.”

“FBI agents are posted outside the hospital and right outside the door. They’re waiting for him to try.”

For all the good that will do either of them. “They have no idea what they’re up against. Jared, listen to me—Where are my guns?”

“The agents took them. They said they’d hold on to them for you.” 

“Dammit,” Jensen hisses.

“I know where they are,” Jared says, looking sly. “I could probably get them for you.”

Jensen can feel the corner of his mouth tug in a smirk. “Would you?”

“Anything for you,” Jared smiles, leaning to kiss him again. 

“I’m sorry,” someone says from behind them. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Jensen’s blood goes cold, and Jared spins around.

“The door was unlocked,” Misha says with a lopsided smile. His face is bruised and scuffed with scratches, and he’s got one hand pressed against his side where Jensen shot him. Jensen can see blood seeping through the material of his button down shirt. 

“Well, don’t mind me,” Misha says, pointing a gun with a silencer on it in their direction. “I just need to hide the bodies.” He bends down, hand reaching below the edge of the bed that cuts off Jensen’s view. 

“Special Agents are so overrated,” Misha remarks, dragging something behind him—the bodies of the agents posted outside the door, has to be.

The haze of drugs and possibly shock is leaving Jensen much calmer about the situation than he’d expected to be, and he has a sort of objectivity that he’s only used to having in the field. He’s sure panic will kick into action any second now, but for the moment, he’s completely rational.

Jared is paler than Jensen’s ever seen him, expression horrified as he looks down at the bodies Misha’s hauling into the room. Jensen can’t see them from this angle, but there’s a split second where he hopes like hell that they’re Sloane and Sterling.

Misha tugs the body around the outside edge of the door, and then busies himself pulling the next one inside, humming lightly under his breath, gun never wavering on them. It’s the humming that works its way into Jensen’s head, that light, cheery tune coming out almost offhand, so completely out of place. This is beyond revenge for what Jensen did, beyond a slight instability that lent itself to blowing shit up.

Misha’s insane. The thought crystallizes in Jensen’s head for the very first time, and he feels the birth of the knowledge with a wonder bordering on extraordinary.

He’s insane. And he’s going to kill them both. Jensen understands this with equanimity. 

“There. Now,” Misha says, standing up and dusting himself with his free hand. “Jared,” he says with a brilliant, delighted smile, eyes settling on Jared’s face. Jensen can feel adrenaline pour through him, hitting him with a sharp kick to the stomach. 

Misha’s looking at Jared like an unexpected gift. “I’m surprised to see you here. Wearing a vest? Not very fair,” Misha tells him, clucking his tongue. “But faking your own death? I have to admit…” Misha tilts his head to one side, looking Jared up and down. “I’m slightly impressed.” He pauses, and then reaches out, grabbing Jared by the throat. “Not enough to let you live, mind you,” he adds congenially.

Jensen’s calm snaps like a twig, rage rushing through him in a fury, fingers clenching in the material of Jared’s shirt, trying to hold him close, snarling at Misha.

Misha yanks him from Jensen’s grasp, tearing Jared from the chair and spinning him around, throwing him against the wall. Jared hits it hard, fury starting to rise through the fear in his eyes. “Down,” Misha tells him, unimpressed, motioning with the gun. “I want your back to the wall and your sweet ass on the floor.”

Jared grits his teeth, holding for a moment—and then he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the floor, head tilting backward to hold Misha’s gaze. 

“Good boy,” Misha purrs. “You follow instruction so well. Now, stay,” he tells Jared as he grabs the back of the chair Jared had been sitting in, spinning it around. He settles into the seat slowly, eyes rapt on Jared’s, fascinated as he rests his free arm across the back of the chair, other arm resting across it, muzzle of the gun pointed at Jared.

Long, unbearable seconds, and Jensen’s trying so hard to move, but his legs don’t respond, screaming in pain so sharp and intense that all he can see for a few seconds are red spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Jensen’s heart is pounding in his throat, taste of panic metallic and thick , and he needs to stay conscious, needs be able to _see_. His rational mind knows this, but it takes a monumental effort of sheer will to stop his body from thrashing. He takes a deep breath, neck craning as far as he can turn it, watching Misha and Jared as the spots slowly fade out.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” Misha is telling Jared as he runs the muzzle of the gun along Jared’s cheek, tracing the line up to Jared’s ear, metal riding down the curve of Jared’s jaw, caressing the shape. He slides the muzzle up Jared’s chin, pushing the barrel against Jared’s lips as he leans in with a nasty smile. “Because that means…” Misha almost whispers the words, savoring them, shoving the barrel deeper as Jared opens for him, “I get to kill you _twice_.” 

“Leave him out of this, Misha,” Jensen growls. And goddammit, he can’t move, can’t do a goddamned thing but _watch_ , fury rising like a living thing inside him, panic thrashing in his chest, tears blurring his vision.

“You know…” Misha says, ignoring Jensen completely, voice low and deadly as he leans in even closer to Jared. “Jensen used to _love_ to fuck my mouth.” Misha rocks the gun barrel back and forth between Jared’s lips, pushing a little deeper. “Just…” shoving deeper, “like…” pulling back to the edge of Jared’s lips, “ _this_ \--” slamming deep and fast into Jared’s mouth, and Jared coughs, choking around the barrel.

“You bastard,” Jensen hisses, and he’s shaking with rage, almost _blind_ with the need to murder Misha right the fuck now. “Leave. Him. _Alone_.”

Misha’s smile grows a little wider, one corner of his mouth quirking upward in an expression of pure pleasure Jensen recognizes instantly. “But it’s so much fun to molest him while you’re helpless to stop me. God, Jensen… I could do this for hours,” Misha goes on, drawing out the words like he’s loving this. The muzzle of the gun is slick with Jared’s spit, catching the gleam of overhead lights in the instant before Misha pushes it back in. He’s watching the gun slide in and out, teeth biting into his lower lip as he grins. “Actually, if I had hours, there’s a whole _list_ of things I’d love to do to him while you watched. Fuck him right here on the floor, make him mine…” Gun pulling from between Jared’s lips before Misha forces it back in. “And all… you could do… is watch.” 

Misha cocks his head to the side and squints, like he’s debating. “We might have enough time to squeeze that in, actually.”

“I am going to kill you.” The words are strangled, harsh and tearing from Jensen’s throat. He’s never been so certain of anything in his life—never been so enraged as he is right now, so helpless and desperate.

Misha ignores Jensen completely as he pulls the gun from Jared’s mouth with one last, slow upward slide. Jared is staring at Misha with utter hatred blackening his eyes, tears trailing from the corners.

Misha gets to his feet slowly, motioning Jared from the floor with a flourish of the gun. “Pants off,” Misha tells him, “and then bend your sweet ass over that chair for me.”

“God _damn you_ , Misha,” Jensen hisses, hand clawing at the air to reach him. 

Misha glances over at him for the first time, then, eyes dancing mischievously. “Wait your turn,” Misha says, blowing him a kiss. “I’ll fuck you, too. One last time before I kill you both. Promise.”

Jared moves then, so fast that Jensen almost can’t follow the movement, grabbing the wrist of the hand holding the gun and shoving, twisting, just like Jensen taught him to, other hand punching Misha in his wounded side.

Jensen hears the gun clatter to the floor and skitter across the room, and then everything happens in slow motion; Jared following through, lowering his head and barreling into Misha, throwing him backward. Span of a heartbeat, and Jensen’s never been so terrified in his life—anything can happen, and he’s trained Jared, but Jared’s never going to be as good as Misha—

All the breath in his lungs leaves him in a quick, short burst as Misha falls against his chest, Jared’s weight crushing in behind. His wounds _explode_ with pain, whole body jolting, and he can barely feel it through the adrenaline coursing through his system. Misha’s face is less than a foot from his, Jared’s so close to Misha’s that they could be lovers about to kiss save the expression of pure vengeance on Jared’s face, fingers locked around Misha’s throat.

Jared’s got Misha pinned with his weight, but Misha’s grinning at Jared madly, like he’s _enjoying this_. Misha’s lifting his shoulders off Jensen’s chest, shoving his throat into Jared’s hands, and then Misha’s reaching up, getting his hands around Jared’s head—

One twist, that’s all it will take.

Jensen only has one good hand. That’s all he needs.

He reaches between them and around, fingers sinking into the hair at the back of Misha’s head, yanking savagely towards himself.

The sound of a sharp crack rends the room, and Misha’s eyes meet his, focusing on him in the split second before they go slack, pupils flaring wide. 

It happens so quickly that Jared’s still clutching Misha’s throat, savage expression twisting his features… and then Jensen sees understanding hit him, eyes widening in surprise.

Jensen stares at Misha’s empty eyes for a long moment, thinking of the light he’d seen in them once. How much he’d loved to look into them, to touch that face, to see Misha looking back. How much he’d grieved when he thought he’d lost Misha forever, how he’d been devastated when he’d thought Misha was dead. He’s been carrying all of those emotions inside him for so long that they’d become part of him, natural as breathing, guilt a weight he’d barely noticed anymore. 

He doesn’t feel it anymore… like it all happened to someone else. He doesn’t feel anything right now, except grim satisfaction.

Misha is dead, and Jensen feels… _done_.

Jared breathes out hard, hands sliding from Misha’s throat, tugging his weight from Jensen, body pushed to the side, falling slowly to the floor. Jensen watches him go, hears Misha hit the floor, and then he looks up at Jared. 

“Jensen…” Jared is still breathless, struggling to find words, eyes still surprised, tinted dark with love and concern. “You…” Jared’s eyes flicker towards Misha’s body before they gravitate back to Jensen. 

“He was going to kill you,” Jensen says, simply. “I wasn’t going to let that happen.” 

Jared nods once, shakily, and then reaches for Jensen’s good hand. “Are you okay?”

Jensen reaches to grab Jared’s forearm, pulling him in close. “I’m fine,” Jensen whispers, kissing him once. 

Adrenaline is still buzzing through his system, but the pain is coming back, harder than ever now that the danger has passed, and Jensen winces, realizing that he just had roughly three hundred and seventy pounds slam into his wounded chest. The world is starting to swim sideways, vision graying out.

“Might… need… a nurse… though…” he gasps before he passes out, darkness rising up hard to claim him.

 

*

When the hospital deems him healthy enough, the FBI shows up for a debriefing, and the pair of agents that come to see him are decidedly not Sterling and Sloane. One is a red-haired woman in her late thirties, and the other is a dark haired man a little older than she is, by the looks of him. It’s the woman—Agent Green—that does all the talking. She apologizes for the deception on the part of her department, and assures him that they won’t be pressing charges for his assault on the agents at the scene of Jared’s shooting. Given all they put him through and that he brought Misha down, he’s not surprised that they’re willing to be forgiving.

She inquiries as gently as possible about the final incident, making extensive notes, and thanks him politely for his cooperation when she’s finished. They have to meet with Jared, too, and Jensen knows it will be a while before the case is finally closed once and for all, but at least his part in it is finished.

Jensen spends six weeks in the hospital before they’ll release him into a wheelchair and his own care. Jared and Victor help him into the car, and when they arrive at Jared’s house, they pull out a stretcher Jared must have bought or borrowed from a set, and carry him up the stairs on it. He bears it all in silence, trying not to think of how it’ll be at least four more weeks before he can put any weight on his left leg and get around on crutches.

They take him to Jared’s room, Oliver bringing the wheelchair behind them, and get him into the bed, Jared pulling the covers up over him. Jared takes care of him as much as he can, and when he can’t, it’s Chad of all people who does the caretaking, which he turns out to be surprisingly good at, despite the fact that he teases Jensen about being an invalid as often as possible.

It’s five more weeks before he goes back to have the casts on his right arm and left leg removed. Jared brings him home, helps him up the stairs and into bed, and then proceeds to strip his clothes off piece by piece, taking his time touching Jensen everywhere with his hands and tongue. They have to be careful, and Jared is; gentle and sweet, sliding slow in and out of Jensen, hands cupping his face, bodies molded together. 

After, Jared lies on his stomach beside Jensen, fingers tracing over the scar on his chest, watching Jensen twist and hiss against the feel of Jared teasing the sensitive skin.

“I’m so going to take this out of your ass when I get well again,” Jensen promises, and Jared grins.

“I sure hope so.” 

They lie there for a few long moments in silence, Jared resting his head gently against Jensen’s chest, like he’s listening to Jensen’s heartbeat.

“Look,” Jared finally says, and there’s a determination in his voice that surprises Jensen slightly. Jared turns his face to look up at Jensen. “I know we haven’t talked about it too much, but…I just thought you should know.”

Jensen squints at Jared curiously, waiting. 

“You’re not leaving,” Jared says matter-of-factly. “I don’t know what you’ve got planned next, after this, but whatever it is, you’re staying here.”

“Yeah,” Jensen says after a moment, nodding his head. “I am. Never planned on doing anything else.” 

“Good.” Jared nods like he’s glad it’s settled. Another few seconds pass, and then Jared asks, more gently. “Have you thought about what you want to do now?” 

“I was thinking I could re-enlist. Maybe start a fight club,” Jensen says, droll.

Jared snorts, shaking his head and smirking softly. “What about being a bodyguard?” 

Jensen shakes his head. “Too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous for _you_?” Jared asks, raising his brows at Jensen.

“That can get you killed, you know,” Jensen informs him, as if Jared might _not_ have known. “Besides,” Jensen goes on, giving up the joke as he reaches out for Jared, pulling him into a kiss. “I’ve got too many reasons to stay alive now.”

“Too many?” Jared breathes back.

“Just the one, actually.”

 

*

The military doesn’t hold a service for Misha; they just lower him into the ground in front of the headstone they put up for him a long time ago. Jensen only knows it happened because the FBI told him. He knows he isn’t going to visit it any more now than he has in the last four years. Before, his avoidance had been out of guilt, and pain, but now…

There’s nothing there for him.

It’s a week after the final cast comes off his right leg that he leaves the house for the first time under his own power. He takes one of the private cars from the garage and drives alone to the beach. The sun’s been down for a couple of hours, and the moon is high in the night sky, bloated and full. He opens the door and walks down to the edge of the ocean, feet scuffling against the sand until he’s standing where the ocean meets the land. He stands there for a few minutes, watching the surf rolling in and out, listening to the sound of the waves. He thinks he remembers once, when it was a soothing sound, but it hasn’t sounded like that to him in years. It sounds like memory, like training and missions and someone he used to love.

Jensen pulls his wallet from the pocket of his jeans and opens it, thumb running along the edge of the ripped seam before he pushes it inside the lining.

The picture is the same as it ever was, exactly the way he remembers it. He can remember the love, the way it had felt, bright and alive—Misha at his side, sand sticking to him, gritty between them. That wide, bright smile, those eyes, daring the world to defy them. Jensen remembers like it was yesterday.

He can see it now. The insanity bleeding through the edges of Misha’s expression, echoed in the glint of his eyes. Like poison, soul deep and irrevocable.

He wonders how he never saw it before.

Maybe he hadn’t wanted to.

He’ll never forgive himself completely for abandoning Misha in the first place, for turning his back on his team. But he’s paid enough for it.

He pulls the picture from its slipcase and tosses it into the waves. The tide claims it greedily, sweeping it backward into the flow away from the sand, glossy surface reflecting under the moonlight.

He watches, waiting until it disappears from sight.

 

*

When Jensen returns to the house, the front door opens, letting light spill out onto the porch around Jared’s tall silhouette. 

“Look at you, out and about all on your own,” Jared teases, stepping out into the mild evening air to meet him.

“Welcome home,” Jared says and smiles, wrapping him up in a hug.

They’re safe, and he’s finally free.

Jensen pulls him close, smiling into Jared’s shoulder as he nods. 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

FINIS

  
  


[](http://i777.photobucket.com/albums/yy60/nyxocity/JensenOcean.jpg)

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOUS: So much love to kingsblkdragon for doing such awesome artwork for this story! She was a total joy to work with, and I can’t say enough about how much I love what she created. She did an amazing job, and really captured the spirit of the story. Be sure to check out her art post for additional art and tell her how great she is [here](http://kingsblkdragon.livejournal.com/3028.html). Also, big love goes out to everyone who not only pom-pom waved me through this, but sometimes kicked me right in the ass and MADE me keep plugging away at it. There were no less than four times that I thought this story would never see the light of day.


End file.
